Hard Secrets Between Altair and Malik
by ScarletCougar
Summary: The trials and tribulations of two friends who have grown together and been driven apart in duty and tragedy. The eagle mates for life and soars solo and lonely when its mate is lost till its body and soul dies. What will come of Altair and Malik?  some chapters rated MA which say so in the starting A/N
1. Chapter 1: Altair's Prologue

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr And Malik**_

A/N #1 – I own nothing of Assassin's Creed but I deeply appreciate the imaginative inspiration that Ubisoft and my friends that work there have given me.

A/N #2 – The trials and tribulations of two friends who have grown together and been driven apart in duty and tragedy. Does time heal all wounds and reveal all truths? What secrets are sealed in silence and bound by trust? When you see the great eagle soaring, can you see how broken the wings of its soul are? Assassins endure in the shadows and fly the moment they are seen. The eagle mates for life and soars solo and lonely when its mate is lost till its body and soul dies.

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Crouched high above the city of Jerusalem, the amber eyes of an eagle gazed out. It let out a sorrowful cry before it took flight and circled the tower of its perch as the wind blew at white robes. Altaïr peered down across the city, his hood shading his amber eyes, hiding the truth. The pile of hay seemed so far below. It was always a leap of faith when he dove from the ledge and trusted that his landing would be soft. He never missed... except that once when his leap of faith was more metaphorical and he questioned the master of the order, Al Mualim. He banished all thought and memory as he leapt. God would give him a soft landing if he was to continue, death if not.

Brushing bits of hay from his robes, he walked away one more time from the impossible drop. A woman with a clay pot on her head yelped in shock and dropped her pot with a crash.

_Hide in plain sight. Be unseen. Become one with the crowd._

Altaïr smoothly dipped his shoulder as he slid invisibly between two people in the growing crowd, eyes locked on a thug farther ahead. Each step drew him closer to the small blades at the back of the man's waist. His fingers flitted out and nicked the three throwing knives to complete his own set. He turned with a single step into the shadows and was again gone from view.

A swift leap brought him to the protruding stones of a building in a darkened corner. Moments later he stood unnoticed on the roof. A flutter of white and red fabric and Altaïr flew from ledge to ledge, roof to roof, across beams and vine covered lattices till he almost skidded upon the smooth stones of the Bureau. His heart pounding hard as he stared at the trickling water of the fountain in the open air room below. The sharp scratching of Malik's quill almost made Altaïr step away. He stood long as he thought through his last orders from Master Al Mualim.

_Be unseen..._

Altaïr wished he could be invisible to Malik. Yet, at the same time he wished deeply to be seen... Truly seen. But that was long gone with the life of Malik's brother, Kadar, and Malik's left arm... Gone as was any trust or friendship that was between them.

_Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent._

_Who is innocent? Does this target deserve death? What is the purpose? Why hunt these specific men? What is this... piece of Eden._ So many questions that Altaïr needed answers to, but to ask was risky. He wanted someone to know, to believe in him, his doubts and concerns. Would Malik? Not likely.

Altaïr sank down to crouch on his haunches by the opening in the roof.

_Never compromise the Brotherhood._

Since he mysteriously died at Al Mualim's hand and was revived and stripped of rank, every step he took seemed to. Altaïr was not sure why he felt that way. However, in his bones he knew. Each targeted death revealed more of the hidden truth, but not enough.

Each death now was as his first strange few with a moment stopped in time and shrouded in fog where the dying soul spoke to his own. A gift? A curse? He told Malik once of this and soon learned to bury and hide the ability.

_Ever wonder, Malik? Ever doubt your duty? Ever wonder... If your duty is not in accord with the Creed? Ever think that maybe Al Mualim is wrong... Mistaken?_

He asked that once when he was a teen. Malik laughed. Another teen told him he was crazy. He now calls Al Mualim Master... Just Master. He does his duty and tries not to question. To question or to fail had dire consequences. Death... Would be a blessing compared to the punishments. You lived by the code. You obeyed the Master. You did your duty.

Altaïr clenched his jaw and watched the sun set at last. The lamp light faded from the main Bureau room and blinked out as Malik slipped behind a secret curtain to an inner room to sleep. With a soft thud, Altaïr dropped onto the carpets below. He cupped water in his hands from the working fountain and sipped. _WHY! Why couldn't you have waited, Altaïr! WHY! If you just waited..._ Malik's angry words in fevered fury on the healer's bed rang back into his ears. He waited patiently.

After several hours he padded silently into the main room of the Bureau. Maps in rolls littered the table and the long counter. Bottled inks lined one shelf along with many books. The dusty smell of the books and paper tugged at near forgotten memories. Altaïr closed his eyes and remembered a moment long ago. He had always hated the books and reading and writing, but loved curling on the blankets in a small room full of books with Malik and Kadar.

Incense and tallow from the lamp filled the air with the dusty scent of paper. Malik and his younger brother discussed and debated what they read together while Altaïr pretended to ignore them. The messy writing in the books always boggled him, but he now missed the joy as those two brothers inadvertently shared the knowledge within the pages with him.

A light hop over the wooden gate brought Altaïr to Malik's side of the counter. He would never dare crossing this barrier in the day. He no longer had the right to be so close. He laid his hand on the deceptively painted fabric that gave the illusion of a wall. A tiny push and he could peek through at Malik asleep on a bedroll on the floor, surrounded by books and maps, a tallow lamp guttering almost out of fuel. Altaïr's throat tightened and he flinched painfully away.

Malik rolled over sensing a change in the air and feeling eyes upon him. He looked toward the fabric door. His eyes narrowed with the light movement of the edge. However, Altaïr vanished into the night, taking instant flight before discovery, remaining unseen.

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A/N #3 – The tail end of this chapter is inspired by a picture from Deviant Artist – luulala. You can view it at this address (minus spaces):

http:/ luulala . deviantart .com/art/Which-Never-Comes-Back-139928886

Beta'd by I'm Sexy, 13/06/2010


	2. Chapter 2: Malik's Prologue

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr And Malik**_

A/N #1 – Thanks for reading and reviewing and faving. I still own nothing but my random ideas. I also forgive my husband for his face of shock when I made this fic and insinuated a pairing between Altaïr and Malik. If such a yaoi pairing offends you, then you may want to discontinue reading this story. It may pop up randomly and lemon-lime-y, though not in this chapter.

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Malik rolled over sensing a change in the air and feeling eyes upon him. He looked toward the fabric door. His eyes narrowed with the light movement of the edge. However, Altaïr vanished into the night, taking instant flight before discovery, remaining unseen.

It was almost a year since the incident at Solomon's Temple. His fury at Altaïr's arrogance and later abandonment had faded along with the fiery pain of the loss of his arm and the anguish at the loss of his little brother. And then there were moments like this where Altaïr invaded his private space without warning and didn't even bother to stay and say why.

His anger stirred and he tried to shove it aside. Altaïr was like an irritating stray cat that came and went of its own will expecting food and safety, yet remained too aloof and twitchy to be approachable. Maybe not a cat but more like the true wild eagles you tried to tame, untrusting and untrustworthy. They were just as apt to hunt for you as they were to hunt you. Malik wondered what Altaïr was doing.

He heaved a sigh and stood. Altaïr was never around long enough for Malik to gentle himself or welcome him. The verbal banter between them always ended badly and left Malik abandoned in the Bureau alone. They had verbally bantered all their lives, but once past the initial rash words was camaraderie. They were two willful and strong-minded individuals.

It bothered him to see Altaïr skittish and passively obedient. Malik sometimes wanted to tell him openly that he forgave him for what happened, but Altaïr was locked up tighter than an iron box with no hinges and never stayed long enough to hear it.

Dressed only in light pants, his shoulder gently bandaged against potential chafing, Malik walked through the curtain to the main room and scanned the dim moonlit room. He was expecting Altaïr from the message bird he had received from Al Mualim. To the empty air he whispered, "Safety and peace Altaïr. Safety and peace." He wanted to try this time, really try, to not fight with Altaïr. Malik had heard things today from a chatty novice that reminded him of the rafiq in Damascus. These rumours he heard disturbed him… Deeply.

"_And then Yusef told me all about what happened. Altaïr was hero and traitor all in one day. It didn't make sense to me. How can you be both? He saved Masyaf, saved us all. I overheard one of the basket weavers saying that he ran out alone into the city to fight the Templars just to give them a chance to get within the safety of the fort walls. And then he did a leap of faith out the back tower! I can't wait to learn that! They say he leapt to his death and yet there he stood. I saw it myself, he stood in the lookout watching the logs crush Robert's army. He released the trap. He was a TRUE HERO. But others say he's a traitor. They say he lead Robert right to us, broke the Creed, all three edicts! And before you were healed enough to go, they executed him in front of all the brothers. I don't know what sorcery brought him back to life. But there he is, stripped of rank! Once I learn the leap of faith, I will be the same rank as he! Do you still hate him? Did he really abandon you? I can see why he'd be a traitor and stripped for it. Hamal, -I traveled part of the way with him-, told me he'd take a feather for Altaïr just for you." The youth leaned on the counter uncouth and unafraid to bluntly ask things that would normally be impolite, "Does it still hurt? I've never been hurt before much past scrapes and bruises from training."_

Malik had to shove the teen food to quiet him. Then he sent him on an errand to find some information. He concluded with sending the lad to Damascus to train further there. The rumours though dug in his gut. The boy would never know how much he revealed. Malik's critical mind had already picked apart the boy's words and analyzed their implications.

Months ago, Malik would have agreed that Altaïr was a traitor and when confronted with those rumours didn't bother to correct them. As time past though, he knew there was nothing Altaïr could have done save beat his fists bloody against crumbled rock and never get through to save him and Kadar. Malik also knew who really lead Robert back to Masyaf.

He traced a line on a map in the dim room swallowing that guilt. Altaïr was taking the blame for him and not fighting it for whatever reason as he should. Altaïr saved Malik that disgrace and shouldered it himself. He still broke the Creed, his arrogance still ended Kadar's life, but some things were not his fault. Malik understood that now that he had a year to ponder it.

His question was why. Why did Altaïr act against the Creed? What was that golden ball? Why was it worth doing literally anything for? The question that bothered him more, one he never dared voice was… What were Altaïr's orders from Al Mualim? Altaïr seemed to still be following them, though now in silent foggy shrouds of secrecy that seemed to poison him slowly.

_Malik? Ever doubt your duty? Ever wonder if Al Mualim is wrong… Mistaken? Ever wonder if what we are doing is actually against the Creed?_

Malik paced to the open air room and looked up through the lattice hoping to see Altaïr crouching there. Altaïr was but a teen with a wild reckless grin, fearlessly throwing himself into his training. Malik wondered what changed him, something had. And now again, apparently Al Mualim executed Altaïr and revived him again, changing him further. He clenched his one fist.

"Altaïr, if you are up there… Get your arrogant ass down here where the archers won't pick you off! I don't want to have to get the next novice who comes in here to scrape your corpse from the roof. You'll be reeking by the time the next novice comes through here!" He listened, already regretting his tone which did not seem to invite nor give a sense of safety or peace.

Sighing he set out a small tray of food. Altaïr usually never ate before riding anywhere by horse. To do so seemed to always make him vomit on route. He scanned the walls and floor carefully in case there was blood traces to indicate that Altaïr was wounded. Relieved somehow that his one link to what was somewhat family, albeit broken and bitter, was unharmed as far as he could tell, Malik thought to himself that Altaïr was a true hero for Masyaf.

Few knew of Altaïr's total phobia of water. To take the leap off the back tower in Masyaf was to risk dropping into the river. To get from there to the lookout tower for the trap meant crossing not one but two long narrow planks over a hundred foot drop to the river below, followed by an almost sheer climb up the lookout wall at the edge of the cliff over that river. Then, to accept such a blow to his pride as to be stripped totally down to being a novice, willingly. Why did he do it? Malik gave one last peek up through the lattice at the empty night sky.

What bothered Malik the most was the idea that a Brother of the Order would kill one of their own. Brothers of the Order were willing to take a feather out on Altaïr even though he was struggling slowly along a hard path to redemption. Altaïr went from prodigy to nothing to awaiting an assassin's mark from people he should be able to trust. This was a rift in the Order that troubled Malik as he thought and walked back through the wood gate and the curtain into his private back room. He carefully tidied the maps and scrolls and books there, listening till he heard the soft thud on the carpets of the open air room. Altaïr must have waited till he was out of sight to enter. Nothing but water scared Altaïr before. Why was he scared now? And especially why was he scared of Malik of all people.

Malik opened the curtain a tiny crack to see Altaïr carefully sniff the food and test it before actually eating. _I am NOT about to poison you!_ Malik ground his teeth, insulted. Then he remembered his earlier train of thought. What if Altaïr knew Brothers might be out to kill him? Of all people, Malik had the most cause, no? _What is the world coming to? What are we, the Order, coming to? Yes, Altaïr, I doubt and I question. Do you still?_

The night slipped by silently. Malik struggled with his anger at Altaïr and his concerns. He paced out once more unable to actually sleep, blade in hand to practice some moves in the larger room as Altaïr slept on the cushions of the open air room. On still silent feet, the only sound being the slight rustle of his robes since the night air was chill, Malik stood over Altaïr with his blade glinting in the filtered light. The moonlight spilled softly over Altaïr's sleeping form as he gripped the pillows in twitches of some night terror. "Safety and peace", Malik whispered, and watched as Altaïr relaxed a little. Other memories flooded his mind, but so much blood was spilled between them. Malik was not sure if he trusted Altaïr enough and was fairly certain now that Altaïr didn't trust him. A salty stream trickled down Malik's cheeks.

As the sky grew lighter with the coming dawn, Malik left Altaïr to sleep in peace. He locked the main door so they could both sleep in safety, before retiring to his own room and grabbing a few precious minutes of sleep for himself.

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A/N #2 – The tail end of this chapter is inspired by a picture from Deviant Artist – doubleleaf. You can view it at this address (minus spaces):

http:/ doubleleaf .deviantart .com/art/moonlight-144088324

Beta'd by I'm Sexy, 13/06/2010


	3. Chapter 3: Altair Hiding

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr And Malik**_

A/N #1 – Reviews are good for writer moral. They are also good for helping improve the story. I am trying a counter relay perspective style of writing. Altaïr then Malik then Altaïr. I hope I can manage it.

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As the sky grew lighter with the coming dawn, Malik left Altaïr to sleep in peace. He locked the main door so they could both sleep in safety, before retiring to his own room and grabbing a few precious minutes of sleep for himself.

The sun rose to bake Altaïr's eyelids through the lattice roof of the open souk. He grumbled and scrubbed the sleep from them. His fingers ached as though he had hung all day from the ledge of a building. The pillows were practically punctured by his talon grip on them through the night. It was another terror plagued night that did not inspire any gentleness in him for the day, not that one would ever think of putting the word gentle and Altaïr together in the same sentence. He was just not. Well, not any more. Ok, not when anyone was looking and often even when they weren't, but sometimes wanted to be. He shook the weak betraying sentiment from his head physically as he stood.

The Bureau was silent, much like the outside world, everyone still sleeping including Malik. Altaïr splashed water on his face in a rough attempt to wash and then ate the remaining food off the tray Malik had left for him, especially the meat jerky. He then filled his two small belt bottles with water for later. It always bothered him how sometimes the poor, the drunk, and the crazy pissed in the fountains of the cities. He double checked the cleanliness and readiness of his various blades before tugging his hooked cowl down to shade his eyes.

In a flutter he was on the roof. There he crouched and scanned for danger. Rooftop archers were distant, the bureau safe. Safe. As much as he felt Malik hated him, Altaïr felt more comfortable here than anywhere. He frowned at the feeling. It bode ill of the other Bureaus, especially that of Damascus. It also bode ill of Masyaf, which should feel like… Home.

His eagle sharp vision tracked the circling shadow and soon the circling golden bird of prey. Its perch was his next destination. Muscles tensed a moment then he took flight across the roofs. He flew across a wide gap between buildings. He dashed over crates. He skidded around a corner as his wrist blade pinned an archer to the ground through the throat. He flew again leaping to grip the grill of a window on the spire of his destination.

Hand over hand he climbed. At the perch he hung as the eagle landed to eye him warily. It spread its wings and cried out its indignation as it again circled the spire. Altaïr pulled himself onto the perch envying the eagle's freedom.

The now noon sun beat down upon him while he debated his next move. He stood to take a leap of faith, adrenalin already speeding his heart rate. A ripple of red and white fabric betrayed a Templar flag. Fury rose in Altaïr and he ground his teeth restraining a growl. He changed his direction and inched his way down the spire, glancing frequently at his new target, that baneful flag. _How dare the Templars lay such claims!_ He bounced off the side of the spire to land and roll on a roof, over to neatly drop between the walls of balconies to the hated flag.

There he ripped it ferociously from the wooden beam it was nailed to. With a knife he shredded it, venting some of his hate and loathing, wishing it was Robert's throat. That man ruined his life… Ruined the lives of the only people he truly cared anything for. His blade bit into his palm before he realized there was no more flag and threading and shreds. He examined the wound and concluded it was inconsequential.

Altaïr roamed aimlessly through the streets of Jerusalem for hours, listening to the gossip. His gut still churned with hatred. Though now he no longer was sure who he loathed more, Robert or himself. It was his own arrogance, his own belief that he was so good he was above the Creed, that got Kadar killed and lost Malik his arm. The sun was setting and he was no closer to news of his intended target.

He dipped his hand into a clean-looking fountain to wash the blood from it and ease the sting of the cut. Should he return to the Bureau? He needed guidance, but would Malik actually offer it? He had never really… Asked… For help before. His stomach flipped thinking about Malik and he decided not to return to the Bureau. It was starting to get late. He nibbled a handful of dates he stole on his walk and drank the water from one of his small bottles.

A beggar invaded his personal space demanding money. He tried to shove her aside. She was insistent. He was not in the mood. He never really was, but less so now. He grabbed her shoulder and pushed her roughly away. She tumbled and screamed and ran. Altaïr stepped into a shadow invisibly till his temper calmed. As he turned he saw the ladder there, conveniently. He climbed it as darkness descended on Jerusalem.

On the roof was a small covered roof garden. He hopped inside and flopped onto the dusty warn hay there. The fabric of the souk was so forgotten and worn that it revealed the stars and moon through the thinning weaves. He chose to sleep there, unable to face Malik this night.

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A/N #2 – The tail end of this chapter is inspired by a picture from Deviant Artist – Corrupted-Mooch. You can view it at this address (minus spaces):

http:/ corrupted-mooch .deviantart .com/art/Between-Missions-156425804

Beta'd by I'm Sexy, 13/06/2010


	4. Chapter 4: Childhood

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr And Malik**_

A/N #1 – Reviews are good for writer moral. They are also good for helping improve the story. I am trying a counter relay perspective style of writing. Altaïr then Malik then Altaïr. I hope I can manage it.

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On the roof was a small covered roof garden. Altaïr hopped inside and flopped onto the dusty warn hay there. The fabric of the roof garden was so forgotten and worn that it revealed the stars and moon through the thinning weaves. He chose to sleep there, unable to face Malik this night.

Malik yelled in frustration in the empty open air room. Altaïr had left before they could speak, before they could exchange news and information about the mission Al Mualim assigned. He kicked over the empty food tray. It clattered coldly against the stone wall. "Altaïr! You arrogant… Prideful…You son of…" Malik let his breath out in a huff realizing the insult of finishing that curse. Son of No One… A cruel curse to inflict on anyone, and yet it was what Altaïr's last name translated to.

He was furious with Altaïr for leaving. "You think you know what you are doing. You always ignore the protocol. Do you still think yourself above the Creed?" When he realized he was yelling at no one, he kicked the tray again for good measure before picking it up and dropping it into a basin to wash later.

He squinted into the sunlight and returned to the main room. At some point, Altaïr would have to return. He needed to open his Bureau and look like a scribe and cartographer to the public. Gritting his teeth, he slammed his maps onto table, thumped the wood or stone blocks onto corners, he thudded books into shelves.

He almost broke an ink bottle when it hit the table from the force of his frustration. There he forced himself to calm. Ink was expensive, not just financially, but also bodily. He hated going to the market and allowing the thugs and guards to pick on the crippled scribe. His cover grated in his pride… As did Altaïr. Today's anger recalled all the original pain and senses of betrayal.

It was an hour or three before he came to terms with exactly how he felt. He was angry mostly that he never really gets the opportunity to talk to Altaïr. He felt alone, far from home and not allowed back, with no family left. And every time he reached in any way out to Altaïr it came out wrong, bitter, and ended with Altaïr fleeing. Malik sighed missing their friendship, even if their childhood was rife with small battles. It was rife with small moments of unforgettable bonding.

Malik set out a medical book with details of anatomy on the desk to study from. It was stolen from the Hospitalier that Altaïr assassinated months ago and manifested here mysteriously. He never questioned it though. Medicine was a secret passion of his. Although he barely read the page before him as he drifted into daydream, remembering some of his early encounters with Altaïr.

_Altaïr was brought before the assassins of the Order and the other young recruits. He was such a strange boy with his fair skin and light brown hair. Even his eyes were strange, not brown, lighter, almost golden like an eagle's. Malik was ten years old standing with his elder brother, Faruq, another assassin who was also an excellent doctor and was likely going to be removed from Assassin duty soon for that very reason. Altaïr was barely eight years old, thin, and a bruised mess. The story was that his mother was a Christian from a foreign land and his father was a Muslim from Acre. Both were killed in some attack and Altaïr alone had survived. Al Mualim introduced the boy as Altaïr Ibn-la-Ahad, flying eagle and son of no one. He was too young really to be put among the ranks of the new recruits like Malik, but considering the circumstances there was little choice. Al Mualim had in a sense adopted him and placed him as Malik's partner to share a room and other things, to learn the ways of the Brotherhood and the Order. _

_Altaïr was a quiet introverted child even then, one with so much fight in him, angry at the world. He and Altaïr fought over everything in those first few months. They argued lots, tumbled aggressively and destroying their small shared room. Altaïr never would study or read when Malik was determined to be the best in all things. However, even at such a young age, Altaïr excelled at the physical lessons, even the disagreeable ones. In the practice ring, with others watching, Al Mualim instructed the children on wrestling. "The strong one always wins. In a fight, be the one to walk away." Altaïr would then abandon grace and polite fighting in order to win, pulling Malik's hair and behaving almost like a feral cat. And yet, later in the night, Malik would find Altaïr sitting beside him watching over him as he slept. "Promise me, Malik… Promise not to leave me?" The anger of the day would evaporate then and Malik would pull Altaïr down to sleep with him. "I will always be your friend Altaïr. Always. I promise."_

Malik pinched the bridge of his nose and abandoned the medical text, stuffing it under the counter among the other hidden boxes of feathers clean and bloodied. Just in time too, as a young girl of fifteen walked in guarded by her older brother. She was the daughter of an apothecary merchant. Her father sold medicines and other alchemical substances. The girl smiled prettily, her eyes taking in the whole room before she entered, glancing even in the direction of the open air room for just a second. "Rafiq, I have brought you something new. Oh, and something usual." Malik could not help but be endeared to her eagerness.

He rolled his map to give room on the counter for her to place her basket. "I brought you some mint essence. It will cool the water and the body. Just add some drops to a jug of water or into a bath basin. But you know that already." She almost bounced on her toes as she brought out a wide flat jar. "Here. This is a salve, for your arm. I bet it hurts sometimes." Malik didn't know what to say. She simply smiled. "My father would like if you could send him a map of Acre. He is going there to secure a boat to export some of his wares. We missed you at our stall or he would have asked you then. I thought maybe you were unwell, so I brought these over myself and offered to pass his request directly. Is there anything else you need?" This girl, this especially bold girl was very perceptive and attentive. Although, she was the sixth daughter in a family with eight children, and the youngest of them all.

"Thank you, Tibah. Please extend my thanks to your family. I will have a map for your father in a week." Malik pondered a moment wondering if he dared ask, and decided to toss caution aside. "Tibah, there is in fact something I do need. There are often bandits and thugs who are rough. It has been hard to keep apprentices with me for this reason. Could you please supply me with a good amount of bandaged and basic medicines? I could use a more full kit to offer to care for my apprentices and aides. Then maybe they would not abandon me so swiftly." It was part lie and part truth. It would have to do.

Tibah tilted her head almost coyly, her hair coming loose of the scarf she wore a little. She tucked it back into place. This was a look Malik knew, the look of transaction. She was going to name her price and he wasn't sure he was going to like it. "Of course… In exchange for," here it came as she glances back to her brother at the door and whispered, "for your trust. For your trust, I will keep you well supplied. And for… A service exchange later that I cannot name at the moment."

These were both VERY high prices for Malik. He simply nodded feeling like he cornered himself in a trap and worried what this would mean later. However, he needed those supplies too badly. The last novice and mentor who passed through the Bureau nearly died for lack of them. Malik had a reputation of not losing the life of a single wounded assassin who took refuge in his presence.

"Very good! I will see you soon with everything." With that she turned and walked out greeting her brother on the way out.

Malik overheard her brother chastise her, "If you are bold like that all the time, you will insult every man in the city and father will never find you a husband! I hope the rafiq was not offended."

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A/N #2 – The tail end of this chapter is inspired by a picture from Deviant Artist – kat-cardenas. You can view it at this address (minus spaces):

http:/ kat-cardenas .deviantart .com/art/ac-request-strong-ones-wins-146454553

Beta'd by I'm Sexy, 13/06/2010


	5. Chapter 5: Altair's Scar

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr And Malik**_

A/N #1 – Ever wonder how Altaïr got that scar on his mouth? I know have!

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Malik overheard Tibah's brother chastise her, "If you are bold like that all the time, you will insult every man in the city and father will never find you a husband! I hope the rafiq was not offended."

Few people truly offended Malik. Actually... Altaïr seemed to be the only one who really did. Less so now that he saw so little of him. He was missing the feeling of being offended by Altaïr, especially knowing he was in the city somewhere that night.

The sparse layer of hay smelled of mould and found its way through Altaïr's robes to itch his skin. He tossed and turned waking often throughout the night. His mind plagued him with the chaos of his recent kills, the memories poisoning him into doubt. His view of the world used to be so clear, so black and white. _But nothing is true and everything is permitted._ Now it was clouded in shades of grey.

Rolling over yet again in the prickly hay, the feeling coaxed out old memories. Maybe that part of his life never happened, maybe it was just a dream. Maybe if he told himself often enough it would be true. _But nothing is true and everything is permitted._ Reality blurred.

_The life of an assassin is a hard one. Assassins are trained to endure, to be strong, to be the best. Swift, deadly and silent. Altaïr And Malik crouched in a hay stack trying not to move or scratch where the bits of hay poked at them through their training clothes. At ten, Altaïr was already surpassing twelve year old Malik in all the physical training, pushed and almost favoured by the head of the Order, Al Mualim. Altaïr often felt that Malik was jealous of his skill, even though Malik would always be Altaïr's better in anything that involved study, reading, mathematics, or philosophy. Altaïr was not interested in the messy on the pages of the books or the confusing debated and discussions of morals. He preferred knowing his task and accomplishing it. His disregard of the book and discussion studies often resulted in Altaïr often breaking the rules to achieve the desired goal. The strong always win. Nothing is true and everything is permitted. The rules were restrictive and sometimes hindered success. Yet, partnered with Malik tempered Altaïr. Malik was his moral compass, his true friend. Altaïr believed that to at least be absolutely true. As potentially dangerous as Altaïr could be as a child, Malik managed to gentle him. In the hay, they took hands as a reminder of this friendship, even though they were to race to a goal as rivals today. _

"_RUN!" yelled their trainer who stood with Al Mualim and other assassins and trainees of differing ages and stages. Both boy abandoned their hold on each other and bolted out of the hay on one of the roof's of Masyaf. The run was to take them across a natural obstacle course of roofs to a flag target. Small feet kicked up dust as they ran. They climbed. They leapt small gaps between buildings. They rushed around posts. Pushing each other here and there to try to be the one ahead. Altaïr was fast. Malik was smart. Yet Altaïr seemed to earn the praise for his successes. Malik's jealousy sometimes ended in a brawl in their shared room. Altaïr suspected it would be the same today. He intended to win this... again. Altaïr almost flew over crates, leaping with arms spread like wings. He clung to ledges, pulled himself up, and leapt fearlessly across wider gaps, heedless of danger. His eye was on the goal, especially with Al Mualim watching. _

_Malik dove through a small roof garden's curtains to gain extra distance on Altaïr. The route more familiar to him. He had taken the time to study it and map it in his head. He passed Altaïr with a grin, then shoved him into a line of drying clothing. Altaïr lost his temper as usual, snarling as he disentangled himself. He fumed at the trainer's praise of Malik's tactic. Al Mualin yelled from below and Altaïr launched after Malik, close on his heels. A reckless pounce and he pinned Malik to the roof, then kept running. The surprise attack slammed Malik's face into stone and knocked out a tooth. At Malik's cry of pain, Altaïr skidded to a halt and turned back to his friend. Al Mualim yelled, "Altaïr! Leave him! RUN! He is the enemy today! Leave him!" But Altaïr seemed rooted where he stood weighing the right and wrong of this in his head, struggling with Al Mualim's orders and his own private promise with Malik to never leave each other. Malik was always taking care of Altaïr. Now he needed care. _

_Pain and betrayal flashed in Malik's eyes. Altaïr murmured and apology as he turned and hopped off the roof calling for Faruq. Malik wept into his arms at his failure, at both their failures. Altaïr thought he was doing the right thing as he watched Faruq climb the building and tend to his sibling there. _

_Al Mualim gripped Altaïr's shoulder and almost dragged him back into the main fortress and into a private room. "What the hell happened up there? No, don't tell me. I know. You disobeyed another order. You cannot keep disregarding things like this Altaïr. Will you never learn?" Al Mualim walked back and forth as he spoke, hand behind his back. "You are training to be an assassin, the best assassin. I know you can be. Assassins are fast, strong, and cannot afford to fall prey to weakness of blood. We draw blood. We bleed. We ignore the pain and finish our task." Al Mualim turned to face Altaïr who was intently studying his toes. "So Malik fell. I ordered you to keep running. If he were the enemy, you could be dead! You all must learn that when one falls, the other must keep going, or the mission might fail and you both might end up dead, Altaïr." Al Mualim lifted Altaïr's chin to glare into the golden eyes. "You must abandon fear. Wounds mean nothing, Altaïr. Malik knows this. Must I teach it to you myself?" At Altaïr's stoic silence, Al Mualim pounded the lesson into him. If young Altaïr yelled or cried, he was stuck again till he learned to take the pain in silent acceptance. This went on well past dinner._

_Malik had continued his training alone that day, angry at Altaïr and the shame of failing, especially when other boys teased him about it. Altaïr missed dinner, having stayed in the privileged private room of Al Mualim. Malik seethed and as he returned to their shared little room, he planned to punch out one of Altaïr's teeth just to make things even. Altaïr was sitting in the corner, gripping a pillow in his hands tightly. Shock widened Malik's eyes when he forced Altaïr to look at him. His angry words were forgotten at the scene before him. There was so much blood. Altaïr was shaking slightly and seeing the shock in Malik's eyes drove the tears out of his own, though he dared not make a single noise. Blood crusted on his face and neck, soaked his shirt. It still oozed from purple bruised places and especially the swollen gash on the right side of his mouth. Had he moved his lips at all, the upper and lower cut through his face would split open to show his teeth. _

_Altaïr watched Malik almost numbly as the other soaked a thin summer shirt in water from a jug and pressed it to his wounded face. Malik made Altaïr hold it in place. Questions were plain on Malik's face, but he only got silence for an answer. Altaïr followed Malik's movements with his eyes as the older boy left the room to fetch his big brother. Faruq was easily ten years older than Malik and acted as much like a father to the two younger siblings as he could in place of their own who was gone already dead from a mission. Their mother died birthing Kadar, who desperately wanted to join the training and was told he had to wait yet another couple years. All three brothers had grey eyes, Faruq's were a medium grey, Malik's a dark charcoal with brown hints, and Kadar's lighter grey tinted blue. Like Malik, Faruq's questioning eyes received silence from Altaïr._

_Altaïr remain silent even through Faruq neatly stitching his face. Any other boy of ten would have screamed and cried from the experience. Altaïr merely dug his fingers talon-like into the pillow in his lap. Faruq gently washed the blood away from Altaïr's face and instructed Malik on how to help Altaïr care for the wounds. Malik loved learning, and especially medicine, history, lore and geography. Medicine would be useful later... and well now actually. For Altaïr, everything in his body hurt, but he learned that lesson well. And Malik would care for his wounds gently in the privacy of their shared room. _

Altaïr moaned and tossed again, banging his face into the wall of the roof garden and waking suddenly to the jab of a stick in his side. A dagger in his hand ready to fend off an attacker before full wakefulness cleared his thoughts and vision. Groaning, he dragged him sleep deprived body from the roof garden. He felt filthy like the poor of Acre. He spent the morning slinking around the poor district of Jerusalem and into the rich district. The sky was painted hues of orange and purple with the setting sun. Altaïr bumped tiredly into a guard who shoved him and yelled for him to leave that place. Altaïr steered away toward the markets, stomach complaining loudly. He dipped his burning hand into the fountain there.

A girl of fifteen from one of the stalls came up to him and said hello several times till he finally warily acknowledged her. "Hello. Here, you seem to need this." She gave him a fruit. Her brother hovered protectively behind her. Altaïr glimpsed the young man's flicker of a grin as he nodded to a friend of his watching from another stall. Altaïr envied the two men and their easy friendship.

He accepted the fruit from the girl and mumbled a thank you. She smiled pleasantly. "My name is Tibah. You don't have to pay me," she said as he was fumbling into a pouch. "Just... Remember the kindness and offer that kindness to someone else who might need it later." She then left with her brother to finish packing up their stall for the night. Altaïr nibbled the fruit thoughtfully. His head ached with the moral questions and knowledge that invaded.

Later, he dropped almost gracelessly through the roof lattice into the open air room of the Bureau and dropped onto the pillows there with exhaustion. From where he lay, he could see Malik still working on a map, bent over the counter and purposely ignoring him. Altaïr crossed his arms and rested his chin on them.

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A/N #2 – I have no art for this chapter... sadly! Maybe someone will spot this and draw for it.

Beta'd by I'm Sexy, 13/06/2010


	6. Chapter 6: Malik Watches

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr And Malik**_

A/N #1 – Silence allows for listening and learning, but still answers no questions.

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Altaïr dropped almost gracelessly through the roof lattice into the souk of the Bureau and flopped onto the pillows there with exhaustion. From where he lay, he could see Malik still working on a map, bent over the counter and purposely ignoring him. Altaïr crossed his arms and rested his chin on them.

Two days of wondering and Malik was certain that Altaïr was doing this on purpose. "This" was Altaïr's tendency to not follow orders of report into the Bureau as he should. Malik crunched a feather quill in irritation as Altaïr's apparent disregard for his position and responsibility. A novice and mentor were present to notice this irritation. At their delicate query, Malik snarled out Altaïr's name as if it explained every frustration in Malik's life. "Want that we hunt him for you?" asked the mentor with a wicked grin. Malik felt ice race down his spine and cool his temper. He declined the offer and suggested the two train in the quiet poor district. The fact that a mentor was quick to suggest hunting Altaïr worried Malik. Brothers should not hunt Brothers, especially one's like Altaïr on a mission who could lose sight of friend from foe and kill you anyways because you are between him and his target.

Malik paced. Malik locked the door. Malik paced some more. Worry mixed with anger... anger at worrying and anger at being made to worry. _If only Altaïr would just follow the damned rules!_ When Altaïr finally did drop into the Bureau after dark, Malik was in a ripe sour mood. He broke two quills scratching out the lines of the new map of Acre for the apothecary merchant. Altaïr didn't even greet him with the customary saying, or any saying at all. He just sprawled on the carpets and pillows of the souk. Malik refused to acknowledge him until he did.

He finished the base sketching of the map and put away his quills and ink. Still ignoring Altaïr, Malik came around the counter and drew a short knife to do some training of his own with. He didn't want to be out of form, just in case. He had this sense, like ant on his skin, that something terrible was coming and he needed to be ready for it. As he trained he ranted out his days. He often did this while alone in his Bureau. The walls never cared. Altaïr's silence made it easy to forget he was there.

"There are extra guards on watch for some reason in the poor district." Altaïr's husky comment caused Malik to stumble mid-swing. "I'll find them and direct them to a safer training area. Mentors and novices should be training in Masyaf, not out here."

Malik didn't think Altaïr was even listening to his ranting. He eyed the prone figure and sheathed his knife.

"Safety and peace, rafiq."

Malik answered the greeting, "Safety and peace, Altaïr." He approached and saw how the man on the carpets looked haggard, blood smeared on his white assassin's robe, which were filthy and still showed bits of hay clinging to the hems. Malik brought over a large basin and wash cloths. "Don't soil my fountain with your filth." He then brought over a towel with which Altaïr could dry himself. "Are you hungry?" Altaïr's grunted that he was fine as he dipped his head and hid in the shadow of his hood. Malik didn't believe him. Altaïr was always hungry, so he stepped into the back private area and retrieved a bowl of left-over stew and set that too on the floor. "There are clean clothes in the trunk by the chess table." Malik wanted to yell biting words about protocol and preach at him the rules he should be following, but he saw how Altaïr looked and it was not good. He leaned in the doorway and watched critically as Altaïr removed his armour and weapons. This haggard man was going to refuse food and sleep and help another Brother and a novice? Malik was realizing how much Altaïr had changed. And yet how much he had not, still recklessly running off and saying he was fine when clearly he was not. He frowned, thinking of Altaïr's words and knowing them to be right. Novice training was never outside Masyaf before.

Altaïr tugged off his cowl and sash and robes peeled off his shirt and pants and underclothes, dropping them in a tangled heap. Malik rolled his eyes knowing he'd be stuck washing them. There were many more scars on Altaïr's body than Malik last recalled, some more recent than others and showed Altaïr's poor skills of self-mending. Malik studied the body's movements, looking for signs of weakness or tight muscles from poor healing, favouring of certain movement to ease the pain of strains or ignored breaks. Altaïr always ignored his wounds and endured them in silence. He watched as Altaïr filled the basin with water from the fountain. Malik was sensitive to Altaïr's phobia of water that extended so far that he would not even sit in a bath. Altaïr never looked up at Malik during this whole time, never met his eyes. Before the incident at Solomon's Temple, the two would glare challenges at each other, sometimes just for fun. Now... where was Altaïr's inner fire?

"Uniforms are like feather's Altaïr, they are not easily acquired. You need to take better care of the one you have." Malik bent and collected the soiled clothing to pile with others that needed cleaning or mending from other assassins who had been through here in the last couple weeks. Altaïr remained silent save for the sounds of washing. Malik returned with salve and a bandage for the wound he spotted on Altaïr's hand. "And, you only get one body. I can't replace that," Malik found himself chastising Altaïr.

Those golden eagle eyes glanced at him and swiftly away again, unable to hide in the hood since he was nude. Malik reached for the wounded hand. Altaïr jerked away, "I am fine."

"Stop lying to me Altaïr." Malik pointed to the clearly cut and angry red hand. His tone was harsher and snappish, not what he intended. The muscles in Altaïr's jaw clenched as he relented and held his hand out to Malik. _I will not hurt you. It is my job to heal you on your missions._ He treated the cuts on Altaïr's palm with skilled gentle fingers and wrapped it. Altaïr was tense like an eagle ready for flight. Had Altaïr not been naked and bathing, Malik was certain Altaïr would have fled again. He wondered what happened to Altaïr to change him. This was not the first time he wondered this. The first was when Altaïr earned that scar on his lip. The most he discovered was that Altaïr received a punishment and a lesson from Al Mualim. _Some things... are not permitted, Altaïr. And some things, like my promise to you, are true._ Malik could not bring himself to voice his thoughts. He tried to express them in his actions. _Be an example to others, for they are always watching._ That was a lesson from his elder brother, Faruq, when they both caught little Kadar spying on the training.

Once dressed, Altaïr ate the stew and left the Bureau on his task, the one that was not Al Mualim's. Malik cursed extensively at the mess left behind that now he had to clean. Although, Malik hoped Altaïr found the mentor and novice, alive. He also hoped Altaïr would return. Altaïr needed sleep, needed proper rest to safely accomplish the missions Al Mualim set him to, missions that were increasingly more dangerous. He fingered the slip of paper from the pigeon with Al Mualim's note. _The Eagle is coming for the Regent._

_

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**A/N #2 – I have no art for this chapter either... sadly! Maybe someone will spot this and draw for it.**


	7. Chapter 7: Altair and the Novice

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr And Malik**_

A/N #1 – Hint of yaoi. More to come in future chapters....

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Altaïr needed sleep, needed proper rest to safely accomplish the missions Al Mualim set him to, missions that were increasingly more dangerous. Malik fingered the slip of paper from the pigeon with Al Mualim's note.

_The Eagle is coming for the Regent._

Altaïr was not sure why he was delaying so much. Maybe it was because of Malik. Maybe it was because he was beginning to doubt his missions and the Master. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. The night air was blessedly chill and helping keep him awake. Malik was right... again... Altaïr needed decent sleep badly. However, it was not likely to happen tonight. A mentor and novice were out where archers were likely to pick them off. It made no sense to him why they would train outside Masyaf.

He pulled himself up to a higher section of wall to get a look across the dark city. He flexed his injured hand to feel the neat bandage under the leather of his fingerless glove. It still hurt, but much less. Malik had cared for it much more gently than Altaïr had expected, like when they were younger. A sharp pain twinged in his chest and he took a deep breath to ease it. Malik had remembered he was afraid of water and did not try to get him to take a bath in a tub. Malik had even watched him bathe. Altaïr wondered what Malik was thinking. A few years ago, the watching would have been very welcome, an open invitation for something more. Now, Altaïr thought that perhaps Malik was studying him for the best way to kill him in vengeance. _It is no less than I deserve. Nine lives to take to redeem myself in the eyes of the Order, nine lives for my own. That is what the Master said. But how do I redeem myself in Malik's eyes? Can I ever do that?_

He sighed and launched to another building to begin his hunt. Night hunting was actually not one of Altaïr's favorite things. He preferred to hunt in the day. No one expects an assassin in broad daylight. Also, there were even more guards roaming the streets and roofs at night. It made hunting tedious for all the dodging and extra caution. Altaïr pressed his back against a wall and peered around the corner at three archers on the same roof as he. He cursed in his head. There were a few times he thought he was caught when calls went up about intruders or assassins. Sometimes he though those he sought were caught, but he never found evidence of it when he reached the commotion. He was out of throwing knives now too with no means of pick-pocketing more till sometime during the day. He sneered and ground his teeth. This was almost futile. He was tired and growing totally impatient. He took a moment to acknowledge this along with his state and compartmentalize it, burying it. He was on a mission.

It was a bit odd to be saving lives instead of taking them. It reminded him of the solo mission he was on before the Solomon Temple tragedy. It was his first failed mission. _He lost the Sacred Chalice. He lost Adha. It was also his only secret he had kept from Master Al Mualim. When he went on the mission and came back with a woman and some news of the mission. Al Mualim had devised a further plan to obtain the chalice and concluded that since Altaïr brought back a woman, he should wed and bed her to produce children to be raised in the Order. This was not unusual, but Altaïr was not entirely interested in the idea. Al Mualim gave him this task as his next mission before sending him back out to retrieve the chalice. With reluctance he obeyed. He charmed Adha in his way. That he had saved her life lent well to her liking him. It was the first time he was with a woman intimately. It made things between him and Malik even more awkward. When Adha found out that Altaïr was just following an order, she was furious. She almost left him there. Instead she insisted on joining him on his mission. At first he did not know why. When he realized that Adha WAS the Sacred Chalice, it was too late. He had lost her to the enemy on a boat. His mission was a failure. He lost the Sacred Chalice. He lost a woman he was starting to maybe like despite her anger at him. He tried so hard to save her. And he lost the child she was carrying. With this failure, Master Al Mualim decided that Altaïr could not be trusted to do missions alone anymore. It was a blow to his pride. Instead, he was to take Malik, a lower ranking assassin, and Kadar, a novice. The first mission was also the last... Solomon's Temple._

Saving lives was not one of Altaïr's strong points. It irritated him when people apologized for the loss of Adha. It irritated him more that Brothers in the order let him know they were still looking for Adha. To this day, Altaïr would not say to anyone that she was the Sacred Chalice. But it was possible someone figured it out. He never wanted a woman. But the prospect of a child.... Altaïr shook his head as he realized he was daydreaming, or night dreaming, wakeful dreaming. He peeked around the corner again before slipping through the shadows to take flight off the roof down into the alley.

The sky was becoming lighter and he still had not found the mentor and novice. The near abandoned nook of an alley surprised him with the first clues. There lay two dead guards. One a broken mess tangled in his own bow; he must have been pushed off a roof. The other a bloody mess stabbed in many random inaccurate places. Altaïr shook his head at the horrible lack of skill and tisked the mentor for his sloppiness. The tisking would have been more effective if the mentor were actually there. At least this was a clue.

He followed the faintest traces of blood to... a hay stack? Rolling his eyes he searched the stack and found nothing. He returned to the two dead guards and climbed to the other building's roof and searched there. More blood. The kills happened up there indeed, or at least a fight of some kind. There were smears of blood into a roof hay stack. He searched that pile of hay too... and found the mentor, dead with too many arrows in him to have survived. He frowned then. _Where is the novice?_ Now he felt foolish for not getting details from Malik. He had no idea what this novice looked like, not even his age. He searched roofs, souks, hay piles. His pulse rushed with more worry than he expected to have.

Altaïr slipped invisibly through the morning crowd of people to another alley and stopped to listen in on a conversation between two women that caught his attention.

"... he couldn't have been more than ten years old... and the poor thing showed up bloody and naked on the doorstep..."

"Oh my! Whatever happened?"

"I have no idea. He was in so much shock he did not say a word. I bathed him and clothed him and gave him a place to sleep. I was going to bring him to the synagogue this morning but he was gone."

"He must have been just so scared."

Altaïr clenched his fists feeling even more like a failure. The boy must have been caught by the guard, stripped down to ready him for prison, and bolted the second he could. Knowing the novice was only about ten would help... a little. But now there were no novice clothing to help identify him from other children. Altaïr boldly walked up to the women and placed a coin in the hand of the one who cared for the boy. "For your charity to a lost soul," he murmured before fluidly vanishing in a group of wandering monks. The boy could be wandering dumbstruck from the chock of his mentor's death. That alone could get him killed. Altaïr needed to find him fast and get him to Malik for proper care. The stress kept him awake and alert for now.

He scaled a ladder to look from a higher point for random children, regretting not having asked the woman what the boy was wearing. His annoyance with himself swiftly turned to inner fury. With a little reckless abandon he dropped onto a Templar guarding a crate of swords. His wrist blade slid between the back plate armour and the helm into the soft neck as the ribs crunched from Altaïr landing on the man. "ASSASSIN!!!" Altaïr swore not having noticed the guards that were only a couple buildings away. Not just guards, but two more Templars who were speaking with them. It was a dangerous mistake. Not having the time to clean and resheath the blade he took off at a dead sprint. Over a bench, shoving people aside, diving through a merchant stall, crashing into women carrying pots of water on their head, around sharp corners, desperately trying to lose his unexpectedly tenacious pursuers. He managed a short climb up a balcony to dash across a roof. They still gave chase. He spotted a boy sitting on a bench across the street and leapt across from his roof to the roof above the boy. His shadow was that of a low flying eagle on the cobblestones before the boy's eyes. The boy looked up from his toy horse to see the eagle, but saw nothing, only some yelling Templars and guards. They chased Altaïr another block over the rooftops. They followed him into an alley.

He skidded to a halt around the sudden corner and sat on the bench next to the boy. Leaning forward lazily, he rested his elbows on his kneed and dangled his hands between them, hiding the bloody wrist dagger from the innocent eyes of the child.

As the clanging of metal on stone thundered with stamping feet, guards ran past them. Then turned to yell for the Templars to follow. As the Templars ran by, the boy turned and smiled at Altaïr. He raised his toy wooden horse, "Hello." And proceeded to bounce the horse in the air playing, or trying to, with Altaïr. The guards and Templars barely glanced at them and ran on. When they were well gone, the boy then spoke again, "I am lost, can you help my find my way home?" Altaïr opened his mouth to decline, but the boy spoke again, "After that's clean and sheathed." He pulled a rag from the folds of his green striped scarf and handed it to Altaïr nodding toward the bloody offending wrist blade.

Altaïr took it a bit stunned. "Why the hell are you not at the Bureau?!"

"I was lost. I don't know where it is. So I hid. I figured, I would keep trying to find it, but then I heard the yell of assassin," he explained. "They were expecting us on the roof. They knew us by name." He looked down confused.

"You are a sloppy killer. Were those two your first?" Altaïr found himself asking gently. The boy nodded. "Alright, I am taking you back to Malik. He is the rafiq of this city's Bureau. You tell him everything. He'll place you with another mentor, probably, and keep you safe while you train. This mistake is not his. He didn't know there were extra guards out on the hunt. I have spent all night looking for you." The boy hugged Altaïr suddenly, leaving Altaïr feeling very VERY awkward.

They traveled by rooftops toward the Bureau. Altaïr instructed the boy in short curt terms what to look for, what to avoid, and how to plan a route. He then carefully lowered the boy down through the roof access to the Bureau, hoping Malik did not have any daytime customers. The boy's foot touched the top of the fountain and he made his own way down to the ground while Altaïr dropped mostly soundlessly. They stepped into the doorway to the main room of the Bureau once Altaïr was sure only Malik was there. "The mentor is dead. Here's the boy. I need sleep. I'll be up in the roof souk till later." He then left the boy there and climbed back up for much needed sleep hidden in yet another roof souk.

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**A/N #2 – I did try real hard for a good picture of Adha to no avail. We can imagine she is out there somewhere with a baby Altaïr. He has to have continued his genetic line somehow, right? Hmmm... maybe not with Adha. Because his lineage in later games are all assassins. Hmmm... I will have to come up with something creative later. Heh, especially since I found a cute pic of Altaïr with a baby.**

**A/N #3 – Gotta love doubleleaf for the art. Here is the picture that inspired this chapter. (remove the spaces and enjoy)**

**http:// doubleleaf. Deviantart .com/art/hello-163564265**


	8. Chapter 8: Malik and the Novice

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr And Malik**_

A/N #1 – Malik's doubts start to become firmed. Disturbing changes leave him with questions and wondering about Altaïr.

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Altaïr and a thin barefooted boy in shades of green from the poor district stepped into the doorway to the main room of the Bureau once Altaïr was sure only Malik was there. "The mentor is dead. Here's the boy. I need sleep. I'll be up in the roof souk till later." He then left the boy there and climbed back up for much needed sleep hidden in yet another roof souk.

The boy looked over his shoulder at Altaïr's gruffness and whispered a thank you to him. To Malik her spoke the common greeting, "safety and peace, rafiq."

Malik slammed his hand on the counter top about to yell at Altaïr, who escaped the confrontation. He puffed out an annoyed breath and regarded the boy before him. "Safety and peace, novice." He looked the boy up and down. It took serious looking, but it was indeed the novice from yesterday. The hair was roughly chopped shorter, he was not in his usual assassin's novice uniform, but the face was the same. "Where is your uniform, novice?"

The boy dropped his eyes at Malik's tone and stared at his bare wriggling toes.

"Novice, uniforms are like feathers, not easily obtained. You must take better care of them." _Didn't I just give this speech to Altaïr?Why must I give it almost weekly to those who come through here? I supposed I will be giving it daily to Altaïr now that he is here._

"I'm soprry, rafiq," the boy mumbled with shame. "The guards were yelling my name and chasing me... I figured I needed to look as different as I--"

Your... name?! They knew your name?!" interrupted Malik in surprise and new questions flew through his mind. The boy nodded and looked so much like Kadar that moment after being called names and being pushed around to "toughen him up" for training. The pang reminded Malik to be gentler here with this boy who just lost his mentor. He asked the boy to lock the door and gestured for him to follow him into the private back room. There he gave the boy some food and retrieved a log book. "Tell me everything." Guilt already gnawed at Malik's innards.

The boy nibbled quietly while thinking through the misadventure. The report he finally gave was nothing Malik had expected.

"We went like you said. I followed Jonus cuz I didn't really know where I was going, but he did. It was busy in the streets. We practices hiding in the crowds. He showed me how to jump off things into the hay. We practiced climbing. When the sun set, we played hide and seek. There were archers in the day, but we avoided them. There were just a few. Jonus said cities always had archers on the roofs to protect from thieves, that they just yell at you to leave and chase you off. So we weren't worried during our game. They just became part of the challenge. It was fun, especially in the dark."

Malik watched the boy's animated gestures and starry eyes that were so like Kadar's own excitement about lessons in the Order. He scribbled little notes about the boy's training and the mentor's conduct. He made a personal side note about incorporating roof guards into the training of novices. Those side notes for were if ever he were Master of the Order. Maybe he would provide his training ideas to Master Al Mualim. When the boy's face fell, losing the joy, and quieting, guilt again clamped his stomach muscles.

"I was hiding for so long I thought maybe he really lost me. So I thought I would come catch him. I found him. He was full of arrows." The boy's voice now broke a little as he tried to nibble more to prevent himself from crying, but the tears slipped down his cheeks anyways.

Malik put down his quill and book to come gather the boy into his lap for comfort. The boy mumbled through the rest in his broken voice, "Two others were there waiting. I pushed one off the roof. The other almost fell too, but held on. I took a small... one of Jonus's throwing knives... And I stabbed his hands. He fell. I jumped down after him and ... and just... stabbed and stabbed till he stopped moving. Another guard yelled my name from the roof and I ran to hide in the hay. Why did they know my name?"

Malik stroked through the boy's hair like he would when Altaïr was upset as boys. "I don't know. I think there must be a traitor in our ranks somewhere. I know my men can be trusted. I'll find someone to mentor you." Part of him was relieved that this tragedy was not really his fault. Someone had set these two up.

"Altaïr was real good. Can he be my mentor? He showed me how to sneak across the roofs, and explained everything real well. Even showed me ways to remember the buildings so I can always find my way back here." The boy looked up at Malik a bit hopeful to be trained under the man who found him.

This was very unlike Altaïr and helped ease some of Malik's annoyance with him. _So, Altaïr_ _is changing. _"No, he is on a mission that you are not ready for. Part of the tasks of an assassin are being able to find all the information you need to take out your target swiftly. I am going to place you with someone who is adept at this. Ready?"

The boy nodded, "Thank you, rafiq."

Malik walked the boy out into the main room. "Go wake Altaïr and ask him to sleep in here where it is safe." Malik showed the boy how to climb the other fountain and hand walk under the lattice to the opening. He stayed under him in case the boy fell, but he didn't. "Never touch a sleeping assassin or they might kill you," he advised.

Malik heard the boy call gently, "Master? Master Altaïr. Master?"

"Don't ever call me master," grumbled Altaïr.

"Come sleep in the Bureau please."

The sounds of movement were followed by Altaïr lowering the boy down again into the Bureau before dropping himself down. Malik and Altaïr stared each other in the eyes briefly before Altaïr turned away, hood hiding his face as he mumbled his own formal greeting. Malik sighed and rested his hand on the boy's head to lead him out, "Safety and peace, Altaïr. Get some sleep. I'm locking the door on my way out."

* * *

A/N #2 – *sigh* I have no art for this chapter! Thinking about Altaïr with a baby made me think of Malik with one and maybe how Malik would have been as gentle and caring to his little brother Kadar as Faruq was with him. This would of course translate down to how Malik treated other small children. Makes me want to cry for Malik who must be missing Kadar terribly at this moment. I might have to do a Kadar chapter.


	9. Chapter 9: Broken Wings

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr And Malik**_

A/N #1 – What really happened to Malik's arm? What secrets are Altaïr hiding about the incidents of Solomon's Temple?

A/N #2 – And this is what happens when I am sitting in a doctor's for four hours waiting to hear if i need surgery on my wing or not. (good news is no I do not)

* * *

Malik and Altaïr stared each other in the eyes briefly before Altaïr turned away, hood hiding his face as he mumbled his own formal greeting. Malik sighed and rested his hand on the boy's head to lead him out, "Safety and peace, Altaïr. Get some sleep. I'm locking the door on my way out."

Altaïr watched from the shadow of his hood as Malik left the Bureau and locked the door with a key from the outside. It was somewhat ingenious to have a key lock embedded in a door. Altaïr thought Malik was innovative. He always did, except when it came to the Brotherhood where Malik seemed to be so traditionally rooted that exploring new tactics were almost a crime. It was Altaïr's creativity in that area that made him the best, and also made him arrogant... enough to make a mistake that ended Kadar's life, crushing and trust he might have had with Malik. He winced internally. _I was a fool... an arrogant fool. But I had no choice. I tried, Malik. I tried so hard to protect you from him._

Once he was sure Malik was gone, he set foot in the main room of the Bureau. He strode to the supply trunk and opened it. He removed only two throwing knives and set them in his shoulder sheaths. That would do him fine till he can pickpocket more. _I'll collect a bunch to resupply your trunk, Malik._ He then inspected the strange lock he had never really realized was there before. You needed the key whether you were on the inside or the outside. Clever! _Remember when we used to pretend that you were the Master of the order? I take it back, you are brilliant, Malik. I think you are right, novice really should learn lock-picking._

He explored around the room a bit more and stopped at the chess table. The pieces were neatly arrange with the blacks on one side and the whites on the other on their proper starting squares. Altaïr reached down and hesitated. A tiny smirk flicked on his lips as he moved a white pawn from the far corner two squares forward. It was a traditional starting move. Malik would never suspect it was Altaïr who was anything but traditional in his moves. The slight grin faded. It was perhaps a bit truer to his currently feelings. It was a cautious move, a safe one. Anno0yed with himself he turned from the game sharply and explored more of the Bureau. He found the box of feathers, but it was locked. He shook it to hear maybe two feathers within. _I'll get you more feathers too when I climb my next eagle point. This is how I will seek your forgiveness. I will provide for you what you need, when you need it, serve you as best I can. I wish you were the Master._

Altaïr then found the log book. He opened it to find it written in several languages. The first page was the Creed. He recalled having to write the Creed out as a punishment once. He had to write it one hundred time in all six languages and their sub-dialects. It took him almost three days and much begging for Malik to help him at least write it properly the first time. He flipped the pages randomly. Then he flipped to the back of the book where Malik traditionally kept his personal side notes. As carefully as he could, Altaïr added the note to teach novices lock-picking. Then he slid it back into the exact position he had found it.

A few steps brought him to the fake wall that was just a heavily painted curtain into the private back room. He lifted the edge and peered inside as he had several nights ago. He then took a hesitant step within, letting the curtain fall behind him. The smell of incense had lingered in the main room and permeated into this one with the soft scent of sandalwood.

"_Altaïr, why must you always tip my incense pot?" complained Malik while Kadar stifled his snickering with his book._

"_Why must you always burn that one?" Altaïr queried while watching with amusement as Malik cleaned up the ashes._

"_Altaïr, myrrh is one of the three sacred treasures that the wise kings brought the Christ child. Myrrh is sacred." Malik explained for what he thought was the zillionth time to Altaïr. "If you READ your lessons in Christian philosophy, you would know this." _

"_Can't you burn something... less heavy?" Altaïr complained._

"_I have some sandalwood," Kadar offered._

Malik had burned sandalwood ever since. Altaïr wondered if the change was because of his request or Kadar's offer. Likely now Malik was burning it in memory of Kadar. It was soft and light. Altaïr frowned analyzing the scent and he realized it was not wholly sandalwood. There was this delicate sweetness to it. He struggled for a long while trying to recall the smell but he could not. It was like a gap in his mind. So he abandoned the puzzling odour. He knelt by Malik's sleeping mat and pressed his hand to the bed.

"_What are you doing?!" Altaïr yelled at the doctor. "Where is Faruq? That isn't so bad as to cut it off!"_

"_Faruq will not be back in Masyaf," explained a doctor in coolly. "Now get out and let me work. I have my orders." _

_Several people had to forcibly haul Altaïr from the healing room as people strapped the fevered and delirious Malik down, making him drink an elixir that made him only more delirious. A tight belt bound his bleeding arm below the shoulder as the saw was lined up above the long gash that was angry and red, but not infected as far as Altaïr was concerned. He did not get to see Malik again till the next day when he nearly assassinated the caregiver in order to gain entry. They were not caring for Malik as Altaïr felt they should. He warned them that if they entered, he'd kill them himself. He was dead serious. _

"_Oh Malik. I am so sorry for my part in this." Altaïr recalled all the time Malik had care for him and did his vey best to return that care now. He washed his friend, fed him broths, bandaged and rebandaged the severed nub of his arm. Malik's fevers and shock were terrible. He cried out often in his troubled sleep. He also wept and wept for Kadar. Altaïr wanted to die, wished it was he and not Kadar. He wished they had never been ordered along on this mission. He wondered, wondered and wondered why. It made him angry with the Master, but he did not have the courage to disobey the master. The Master had his reasons and they had to be just. Didn't they?_

_A novice peeked in, "Altaïr?"_

"_Get out or die!" snarled Altaïr warningly._

_The novice took a deep breath. "The Master insists on seeing you."_

_It was the only reason Altaïr would leave Malik's side. And the last time he saw Malik before his first Jerusalem mission._

Altaïr lightly brushed his finger tips over the blanket remembering. He sank down to his knees and leaned over to bury his face there. _I did die. The Master killed me. And by some skill, I live yet. But he holds my life in his hand. It ends if I do not do his bidding and take these nine lives. I'm no longer sure I am doing the right thing, Malik. I don't understand why I am doing these tasks. Save me... save me from myself..._

With a shaking and shuddering breath, Altaïr stood. He clenched his fists and unclenched them. He flicked out his wrist dagger and snapped it back as he regained his composure. Malik always seemed to unravel him in some way, sometimes in every way. Altaïr made his way out to the carpets and cushions. He decided he was overtired and thus was the reason for this... this... weakness of mind. The Master would be furious with him for giving in. He carefully removed his weaponry and armour so as to lie as comfortably as he could. He needed real sleep to start that mission. _When Malik comes back, I will start._ Sleep stole his thoughts almost immediately.

* * *

A/N #3 – Malik gets his wing cut. See MIYOart's picture. (remove the spaces)  
http:// miyoart. deviantart .com/art/Wing-cut-158474250

A/N #4 – I've been admiring this picture from doubleleaf for a long while for a fanfiction option. It is one of the very first that inspired me with the pairing of Malik and Altaïr. (remove the spaces to see it)  
http:// doubleleaf. deviantart .com/art/while-you-were-sleeping-144961142


	10. Chapter 10: Malik's Turmoil

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr And Malik**_

A/N #1 – turmoil... Malik is all about turmoil this chapter.

* * *

Altaïrcarefully removed his weaponry and armour so as to lie as comfortably as he could. He needed real sleep to start that mission. Sleep stole his thoughts almost immediately.

Malik had walked the boy into the rich district of Jerusalem to an estate he knew. The man of the estate greeted him well as Malik handed over a scroll with a small masterfully scripted prayer on it. If ever asked why the scribe was here, it was to deliver the scroll. The boy was then left with the man, the elderly rafiq Malik had taken over the bureau from. This rafiq's two sons were some of Malik's most trusted informants. The boy would be well trained and raised here, protected and away from the mysterious dangers that seemed to be leaking out of Masyaf.

Malik felt like a traitor himself by doing this secretly behind Al Mualim's back. He disagreed on too many levels with the training tactic and the danger this novice was put in, even more so with whoever gave up their location and names to the guard. He also wondered over and over, who told the guards the two would be here training. Who told the guards their names? Why kill a low ranking assassin and the boy he is teaching? What threat were they? How many others were falling prey to this? _Not in my city. Not ever in my care. This is MY city and I take my job seriously. The Creed is for all, even Al Mualim. Dear gods, __Altaïr, what have you gotten into? How long have you been involved? _The most disturbing thought of all came to his mind. _Was it planned for my brother and I to die? Did you know, Altaïr?_

Things were falling into place in his suspicious mind; the answers were beginning to arise. He pressed his hand on the door of the Bureau to calm his sudden fury. _Why did you not tell me? Why did you not trust me? Did you think yourself so above things, so elite that you would not need help? You arrogant ass!_

Seething, he unlocked the door and entered, locking it behind himself because he did not trust his temper right now should a client enter. He was about to storm to the lattice covered souk to tear some shreds out of Altaïr when a change in his environment made him pause. He stood frozen scanning everything carefully for what might have changed in the previously perfectly placed items of the room. Then he saw it. The white pawn was moved. He frowned at it. It was just a pawn. It was a safe, restrained move. Altaïr usually moved the knight out boldly first. This move told Malik more about Altaïr than he wanted to know.

_Malik, I am a pawn. I am afraid. I don't know how to get out. I feel powerless._

Malik's fury melted away and he moved a black pawn to meet the white one. _I made you a promise once. I am never far if you need me. All you need to do is ask. Swallow your god be damned pride and ask!_ He sighed and looked in the sun dappled souk at the sleeping assassin. He leaned in the doorway and watched Altaïr for a long while.

He felt some relief that Altaïr was actually sleeping, albeit somewhat fitfully, but still. Malik placed his log book on the counter and retrieved his quill and ink. Then he lit the incense pot and sprinkled a powder over it. The jar was getting low, so he drew out a bowl to mix more. White sandalwood powder made up the base and majority. Then he added some orris root powder and a hint of vanilla. Those made a gentle sweetening he had found Altaïr seemed to like when they were teens. He recalled the conversation that day with his brother, Kadar, suggesting the sandalwood. A pinch of the myrrh completed this mixture. Malik could not help but smile a little at the silliness of how Altaïr liked such a feminine scent as orris root. Malik glanced up, but Altaïr slept on.

Sitting upon a stool, Malik began to write in the log book the news from the boy he had not written yet. He then added something traitorous. He mentioned the boy's wounds and fever and that the boy perished soon after. It would be the first black mark on his otherwise perfect record of saving lives in this Bureau. He then flipped to the end of the book to record other little notes of interest about training. He frowned at the messy scribble in there that was not his own. It was barely legible. _Novices should learn to pick locks._ First he nodded as it was a good idea, truly. Then he slammed the book shut angry that someone had possibly perused this secret log and dared scribble in it. He glared in the souk at the figure tossing over on the pillows. Only Altaïr's writing was that bad. He smirked as he opened the book to the back again and added his own next note. _Make Altaïr keep his own journal to help his literary skills which clearly lack and improve his truly abysmal penmanship._ Most pleased with his small venting, he went on to make the earlier notes he had originally opened the book for.

He prepared a late lunch, or maybe more like an early supper and set some on a tray for Altaïr. Everyone was an enemy to Altaïr, apparently even in his dreams. It troubled Malik as he watched Altaïr Tensing and rolling over with a dagger in hand to attack an unseen dream enemy. He wanted to know more, but Altaïr was like an iron box with no lid, hinges or key. And just when you think you found a way in, the box transforms to a golden eagle and either attacks or takes flight or both. Malik had had time to mostly heal from the loss of his brother, but Altaïr was still alive and he was beginning to miss the closeness they once shared. Altaïr had become so overbearing and reckless, like the Creed no longer applied to him. He had pushed Malik and Kadar to a distance when he was taking his solo missions. Then avoided them altogether as if they were too low a rank to even bother looking at. Now Altaïr was nothing, barely fourth or fifth rank assassin, little more than a novice despite his skills which clearly had not diminished with his rank.

Malik put the book away and sprinkled a little more incense to burn. He pecked through his food watching Altaïr sleep. At least till the assassin finally rolled over facing him. Altaïr almost never showed his face to Malik. Even when he was nude and bathing, Malik noticed how Altaïr never faced him. He wanted to push back that hood and look him in the eye, see those golden eyes like he did that brief moment. He wanted to demand answers. Altaïr sat up and tugged the hood to hide his features before standing and shaking himself properly awake. It annoyed Malik to no end being avoided like this. He figured Altaïr would continue this path of avoidance and not bother to trust him or ask for assistance. His annoyance grew as he also figured Altaïr didn't really have a reason to trust him. _Why would he? Why would I want to be close to him in any way? DAMMIT! Why DO I want to be close to him?_

Malik struggled with the onslaught of old wounds of the heart. He struggled with the ideas he has had of Altaïr's betrayal of the Brotherhood, reminded that Altaïr lost his rank and for very good reason. Last time he saw Altaïr there was still that arrogance. Altaïr was fighting the treatment of others. That fight though seemed less so now. Malik watched Altaïr approach the doorway and stop. He took reserved... restrained and measured step into the main room. Altaïr kept several arm lengths warily away from the counter. Last time he was in this room, he was practically in Malik's face and they yelled things at one another. With a little more thought, _Ok, maybe it was just me yelling._

"I am ready to start my mission," Altaïr stated in his low and slightly husky voice.

His mouth totally betrayed his wish to be civil, "You have been here a whole week already without really starting, have you forgotten who your target is?" Seeing Altaïr tense and turn a little stabbed Malik with a hint of regret.

That regret faded the second Altaïr retorted, "Of course not!" The tone snappish. "I am here for the Regent." There was a long pause where Altaïr eyed the ground in front of the counter. Malik wondered what introspection was going on in Altaïr's mind. "And with your help, rafiq, I will end him."

Malik blinked several times in silence. "You... are actually asking for my help?"

"Just tell me where to begin!" snapped Altaïr again.

Only then did Malik realize his question sounded condescending. He pulled out a map of Jerusalem and pointed to each place he mentioned in the poor middle district. Altaïr did not approach to look at the map. So, Malik added, "return here after you find each piece of news... and Altaïr, be careful."

The hood shifted enough for a brief look at Altaïr's eyes before it tipped and swallow the features in shadow again, "Safety and peace, rafiq." Altaïr's steps were careful even upon leaving. Malik watched with a little relief as Altaïr stuffed some of the food from the tray into his belt pouches before climbing out the roof access.

Altaïr's attitude had definitely been changing over the year. He seemed to relatively be holding to the Creed and understanding of the Order. He did, however, still kill with enough recklessness to set off the entire city alarms when he ended the life of someone in power within the city. Malik hoped this would not be the case, but resigned himself to the fact that it likely would be. Altaïr always accomplished his task, even if he abandoned discretion and any sense of self-preservation. That last thought left Malik's stomach in knots. _He had better report in after each thing he finds._

_

* * *

_

A/N #2 – sorry, no art for it this time...


	11. Chapter 11: Altair's Mistake

_Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr And Malik_

A/N #1 – Art that inspired my leap of faith: (remove the spaces)

http:// thehotmageaeris .deviantart .com/art/Leap-of-Faith-69925866  
http:// lionpawheart .deviantart .com/art/Leap-of-Faith-148269872  
http:// silentseraphim .deviantart .com/art/Leap-of-Faith-144921809

* * *

The hood shifted enough for Altaïr to briefly look at Malik's eyes before it tipped and swallowed his features in shadow again, "Safety and peace, rafiq." Altaïr's steps were careful even upon leaving. Malik watched as Altaïr stuffed some of the food from the tray into his belt pouches before climbing out the roof access.

It twisted in his gut like a dull blade to stand and be so disdainfully spoken to by Malik. Altaïr endured it, though, like so many other wounds. However, this one he felt he more than deserves. _If my penance is to serve you and to take your sting as I do, so be it. I am not asking for forgiveness. My sins are too great. But... maybe..._

Altaïr shook his head. There was no maybe. The Master made it clear. There were only these nine lives for his own, and these lessons of the Creed he was to relearn by being stripped down to novice status. Yet, these lessons were confusing with what he was learning from his targets. They blurred the edges of his black and white world into hazy shades of grey. Even up on the highest wall, the world looked no clearer. The line between right and wrong was not so obvious.

He climbed the lookout tower and tossed almost tossed the guard over the side without a thought, but the guard cringed. He begged mercy. Altaïr hesitated. Then wondered why he hesitated. The guard pleaded again. Altaïr's wrist dagger snapped back into its sheath as he turned from the terrified bowman. He climbed to where and eagle screeched at him a moment before it took flight. He lifted his head to the late afternoon sun, spread his arms like wings and closed his eyes. He waited. He was such an easy target for that bowman. But no arrow pierced him. He then dropped his arms almost disappointed, wondering what divine power was out there and if it had a plan for him.

"_There is no God. There are just those that came before."_

_Adha's darker amber eyes gazed at Altaïr through thick dark lashes. "But there is a God. You need only have faith. Those who came before, those great and gifted beings of God helped shape mankind, helped teach and guide and even protect mankind. We are special like that Altaïr. We are of them. Assassin, you may call me Adha, Adha Calice. We are all of God for god is in all things from the foulest smelling dirt to the glory of the sun in the sky."_

"_Blasphemy!"_

"_Not blasphemy, Altaïr," she replied softly._

"_Nothing is true," he parroted Master Al Mualim's words._

_Her fingers lightly touched the scar on his lips, "Take a leap of faith for me, Altaïr."_

Altaïr spread his arms again and leapt. The bowman yelped in shock at the suicide leap and lunged to try to save this crazy man in white, but missed the hem of the robes. The feel of the air rushing through his robes in this brief flight made him forget everything but the feel of feathered flight. A dip and roll and he dived rolling neatly over till he fell trustingly. It helped clear his mind and stir his blood. The eagle soared above where he watched as he fell. Feathers scattered from startled pigeons. The bowman watched the fall in disbelief. The only drawback to landing, other than the risk of going splat from missing the soft hay was occasionally *PTUI!* having to spit out hay.

"Maudit voleur! Je te trancherais la gorge!" yelled a guard at a woman he and two others picked on.

Altaïr brushed the hay from his clothes distracted, ignoring the scene of harassment as everyone else was. His eyes on the hay he picked from his sleeve, he bumped into one of those guards. "Allez-y!" the guard gestured rudely. "Sacré -" Then gurgled in death from the wrist dagger Altaïr was pulling from his gut. A flutter and swirl of robes, a spin and whistle of steel, Altaïr's sword revealed itself to embed into the second guard. The third charged him daringly only to be dispatch as quickly as the rest. Altaïr melted into the stunned crowd as the woman thanked him for his aid.

An approaching guard yelled alert. Golden eyes took in the surroundings for an escape. Altaïr dashed off and darted around a corner. He crashed into the metal plate armour of a templar. _I should have gone left and not right. Dammit._ More yells rang through the narrow alley and echoing off the walls. Altaïr fumbled out his sword barely in time to deflect the templar's. Blades arced. Blades clanged. More guards yelled. The thunder of many feet hit the cobblestones. Altaïr dodged a slice. It still managed to bite across his thigh sharply. He staggered. His sword pommel crushed the nose of a guard who came close enough. But it glanced of the help of another. The guards were better armoured. The Templar's sword bit a chink out of Altaïr's right arm guard. Pain bloomed there and was immediately abandoned.

Altaïr's world narrowed to this alley, this fight, these lives, and any opening for an escape as his strength was being worn down. The ground was slick and slippery with the blood of the fallen. He jumped for some crates but was thrown down on the other side. Steel jabbed his shoulder, he felt the shove but not the pain. Numbness was consuming it. Parry, dodge, stab were all that echoed in his thoughts. A master swordsman fought against men of better armour. The Templar's metal-clad fist blinded Altaïr for a moment. Awareness came back as he lay on the floor, awareness of pain, awareness of the Templar over him. The scene shimmered like heat off hot stones.

"Les flammes de l'enfer vont te dévorer." The Templar raised his sword to deal a final blow. "J'étais t'áttendre, assassin. Ça me donerais plaisir," gloated the Templar as his sword arced down upon Altaïr.

Altaïr stilled, measuring each painful breath, and waited. _Parlez moins, Templar._ *CLASH!*

* * *

A/N #2 – heehee... oops... please don't kill me Altaïr fans!

A/N #3 – translations:

_Calice _= chalice_  
"__Maudit voleur! Je te trancherais la gorge!"_ = "Foul Thief! I'll cut your throat!"  
_"Allez-y!"_ = "Get lost!"  
_"Sacré -"_ = "Holy -"  
_"__Les flammes de l'enfer vont te dévorer."_ = "The flames of Hell will devour you."  
_"J'étais t'áttendre, assassin. Ça me donerais plaisir,"_ = "I have waited for you, assassin. This will give me pleasure."  
_Parlez moins, Templar._ = Talk less, Templar.


	12. Chapter 12: Malik's Promise

_Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr And Malik_

A/N #1 – Heehee... more Tibah! You asked for a little more Kadar. It is tiny, but it is here... so is a little yaoi subtlety between Malik and Altaïr!

* * *

"Les flammes de l'enfer vont te dévorer." The templar raised his sword to deal a final blow. "J'étais t'áttendre, assassin. Ça me donnerais plaisir," gloated the Templar as his sword arced down upon Altaïr.

Altaïr stilled, measuring each painful breath and waited. _Parlez moins, Templar._

*CLASH!*

* * *

Altaïr's attitude had definitely been changing over the year. He seemed to relatively be holding to the Creed and understanding of the Order. He did, however, still kill with enough recklessness to set off all the city alarms when he ended the life of someone in power within the city. Malik hoped this would not be the case, but resigned himself to the fact that it likely would be. Altaïr always accomplished his task, even if he abandoned discretion and any sense of self-preservation. That last thought left Malik's stomach in knots. _He had better report in after each thing he finds._

*CRASH!*

Malik stared down over the counter where his ink pot fell and shatter on the stone floor messily. At least the Acre map was not ruined. He chastised himself quietly for being distracted with worry for a man who vexed him as much as Altaïr did. The red spill of ink on the floor seemed ominous and his stomach clenched. _I'll kill him myself if he does not return._

Walking around the counter through the gate, he dropped a cloth on the spill to soak up the ink. He fetched a pail for the mess and knelt to clean it up. The door opened while he was there. "Rafiq?" Tibah's delicate question interrupted his worrying. He dumped the remains of his bottle and ink into pail and greeted her. She smiled pleasantly, "Let me help you, rafiq." She came and finished the cleanup before he could refuse. Her brother entered and left several times, depositing boxes. "I brought supplies as promised." Her brother frowned at her forwardness again, but said nothing.

"Thank you, Miss Tibah. We should discuss the ... ..." he could not finish his statement as he perused the supplies. The boxes contained more bandages than he could ever buy in one venture and of extreme quality, bottles of disinfectant quality alcohol, spools of waxed thread, salves and lubricants, herbal medicines and teas. "In the name of..."

"Rafiq, one should not risk taking the Lord's name in vain," she gentle reminded.

"It would not been in vain but a true prayer of thanks," he breathed. "I can never... Miss Tibah..." There were even supplied of the most refined surgical blades. "Where did you? How did you?"

She smiled at how he could not complete a single sentence or question. She rinsed the rags with fountain water and returned to dry her hands on her layered skirt. "Do they please you?"

Malik had no idea what to answer. This was the best set of medical supplies he could have ever wished for. Not even the Bureau supplied him this well. These supplies in totality could cost someone the price of a smaller estate property. He wondered where she obtained this money. For a girl of only fifteen, she was already darned amazing... and maybe dangerous for that. "They... they please me greatly, but I cannot compensate you."

"I think you can. Remember, I ask only for your trust." She tucked her head scarf more neatly.

"Yes, trust... and something else," he mentioned warily.

Tibah smiles softly, a veiled smile. "I will ask it of you later, but it is not anything impossible, I assure you. Will you be visiting the stall this week? Should I plan to have anything in particular for you? Maybe... red ink?" she deftly changed the subject and it reeled him. She peeked on the counter at the map.

Malik caught himself and came over. "The map for your father will be ready by the end of the week. And yes, I suppose I will need more red ink. I'll come by tomorrow."

She dipped a tiny curtsey before leaving.

Malik stood feeling a bit dumb, a lot invaded, and totally entrapped. These supplies were needed. The best doctors alone had these wares. He wondered if his brothers and God had a hand in this provisioning. The map forgotten for the day, he spent it moving the boxes and supplies into his back room or up into the storage room, lining the shelves with the jars and bottles. He inspected the small scalpels in amazement. The strange thread spool of a substance he did not recognize confused him, as did some curved needles. Excited with the new finds, he delved into the medical books he had for clues as to their used. He found no references and concluded he needed new books.

_Trust..._

Malik wondered about that. Who could be trusted? There were the few informants he maintained and a select few new ones he established on his own here. There was the ex-Bureau rafiq. His trust in the rest of the brotherhood and in Master Al Mualim was shaking though. A glimpse through a window told him that it was already close to midnight. He double checked locks, cleaned the souk and set out extra pillows. In a vague hope that Altaïr might return this night, he set out some food with a basket over it to prevent the pigeons from attacking it. He wondered if that spilled ink was really an omen. The sinking feeling in his gut kept reminding him. Was it a coincidence that all the medical supplies he could need arrived today because they were going to be needed? He looked up through the lattice of the souk. The breeze proved quite chill so he set out an extra blanket. 

_Trust..._

He wondered when the last time he and Altaïr really trusted one another. It was a few years ago when Al Mualim gave Altaïr his series of solo missions. Altaïr had been in private discussion with Al Mualim for hours, but would tell Malik nothing of the missions. Malik tried to not be jealous. he had just earned his own full ranked assassin whites as Kadar received his greys. Altaïr was a master assassin with the neat black stitching on his robes to indicate it. His arrogance proved the rank change too. But that last night together, Altaïr was anything but arrogant. 

_The three ran out to the farthest stack of hay to stare at the stars together. Kadar was as excited for his brother as he was for Altaïr. The teen's idolization of Altaïr also bugged Malik and made him a bit jealous. Tonight was a night to abandon all things. They would be separated by noon the next day. Malik wanted to know why. Partners were a common practice that Al Mualim was changing this year. He let it slide so as not to start a fight, not to part company in argument. Kadar was already asleep and cuddling against Malik's back. He rolled his eyes facing Altaïr in the hay. There would be nothing private this night... or likely any other after this. Altaïr reached out and gripped Malik's hand. Malik ran his other fingers through Altaïr's hair. He always loved how incredibly feather soft Altaïr's hair was. _

"_Remember our promise to each other, Altaïr?" Malik asked._

"_Yes... and don't you forget it," the arrogance slid into Altaïr's and then vanished in wariness, "no matter what, even if... just... no matter what happens between us."_

_There was always this slight lack of trust and yet total trust. Something Altaïr was always hiding and yet the almost desperate trust in his golden eyes would make Malik just nod. "No matter what, I will be here for you. You will never be alone. You can always... and I mean always... trust me."_

_Trust..._

_They slept together in that hay trusting in their safety, relaxed with the peace between them all. Safety and peace. Kadar nestled behind his brother, softly snoring. __Altaïr slept with his arms tucked under his head facing him, tensing in phantom dreams that always plagued him. Malik stayed awake to watch him as long as he could. This... the last day they truly shared trust._

Even as Malik curled on the carpet of the souk, he wondered if trust would ever be regained between them. He drifted off to sleep there unintentionally.

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A/N #2 – Chapter's flashback was brought to you by the-evil-legacy's adorable art of our three boys (remove the spaces to see the art). http:/ the-evil-legacy .deviantart .com/art/Sleep-in-the-hay-149961454


	13. Chapter 13: Altair  Solace of Night

_Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr And Malik_

A/N #1 – Thank you all for the reviews. I know my fight scenes kinda suck... sorry. It is not my forté. I hope my other scenes will make up for it. I wonder what Altaïr is trying to tell Malik. Love notes?

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Altaïr stilled, measuring each painful breath and waited. _Parlez moins, Templar._

*CLASH!*

Altaïr's wrist blade trapped the Templar's sword as his own sword thrust through the lacings of the plate armour, broke ribs and pierced the Templar's chest. The world blacked for Altaïr then.

Even as Malik curled on the carpet of the souk, he wondered if trust would ever be regained between them. He drifted off to sleep there unintentionally, totally unaware of Altaïr's situation.

It was many hours, or had to have been since there were stars in the sky when Altaïr opened his eyes and looked up. He could hardly breath, crushed by a weight upon him. The tang of blood lingered in the air. As his wits gathered, he realized the Templar lay half on him in his heavy plate armour, thus the weight hindering Altaïr's breathing. He shoved the body off and sat up. The blood had not seeped in his direction and thankfully had not stained his clothes. He didn't want to have to listen to Malik yelling at him about robes again.

He stood to take stock of his situation. Everyone was dead in the alley. He barely remembered the details of the fight, they were such a blur. In the morning, more guards would come to check the dead with people to dispose of them. He needed to be scarce. He needed to find some shelter and check his own wounds. He hauled himself up onto the roof and rolled into a roof souk.

His right arm throbbed under his arm guard and at his shoulder. He twisted to see if his shoulder was stabbed, but could not see blood. It just ached. His right hand was not swelling, so there was no break in the bones under the arm guard. The pains then in his right arm could be ignored and promptly were. He snapped his wrist blade out and in and out and in to make sure it was not damaged by the sword. The leather glove was ruined though. He pulled it off to see blood. The bandages Malik had placed there were soaked and torn. A new cut added to the old one. Altaïr discarded the ruined glove and pulled off the ruined bandages. This needed attention. He emptied one of his small water bottles over it to clean it. It actually wasn't so bad. The cut was not deep. He debated a moment then dug out of a belt pouch a thick roll of bandaging material. He crudely wrapped his hand and tied it off with his teeth.

The other wound he knew needed attention, needed some delicacy. He peered through the curtains of the souk and spotted an archer walking along the roof of another building. He'd have to be very very quiet for this. Altaïr peeked through the cut in his pants at the wound on his thigh. Grumbling in his head at the total annoyance of this, he resigned himself and removed his belts at his waist and his abdominal armour. Then he took off the red sash and opened his robes. He peeked through the curtains again to keep note of the archer's location and make sure that location was no closer. Lying on his back a moment, he pushed his pants down to his knees. This cut on his thigh was not good. He sat and inspected it a bit longer to make sure there was nothing actually in the cut, through gritting teeth. He emptied his second water bottle over this wound to wash it. Taking some of the bandaging and folding it into the pad, he pressed it onto the gash. The rest of the bandaging he used to wrap his thigh tightly. This will do. It had to. He was used to this kind of rough self-healing. He has had a few years of it now.

Feeling very exposed, he pulled his pants back up and restrapped all his gear back into place. Another peek proved that the archer was still pacing the roof of the other building. In white, Altaïr was a very visible moving target at night. So he chose to sit there a while longer till he could totally ignore all his pains. While he sat, he reviewed his actions and reflected upon his errors. He replayed the words spoken translating them in his head. 

_"J'étais t'áttendre, assassin. Ça me donnerais plaisir," gloated the Templar._

It was then that Altaïr tensed with realization. They were waiting for him. Or at least that Templar was. They were waiting either him or another assassin. It was more proof of a leak within the Order. Malik needed to know. Altaïr peeked at the archer again, though this time watched and calculated the archer's pacing. The archer turned his back and Altaïr slipped out of the souk and dropped between the buildings out of sight.

He made his way back to the bureau carefully. His feet dextrously walked over the lattice of the Bureau's indoor souk. He dropped down, catching the lattice in his fingers, his feet dangling gracelessly as he struggled suddenly to recover and pull himself up. If his reflexes were poorer, he might have landed right on top of Malik. He peered through the lattice glaringly at Malik asleep on the carpets. _You have your OWN bed... in the back... safe... Stupid stupid... I could have hurt you._ Huffing he walked along the wall edge and climbed down over the fountain instead.

Silently he walks around Malik's sleeping form to the basket on the floor, shooing the curious pigeons from his dinner. He sat on the floor, lifting the basket and eating his fill off the tray. He watched Malik as he ate. This is the closest he had gotten to Malik in a long while. Now and then he saw Malik frown in his sleep and wondered if he was chastising a dream Altaïr over the death of Kadar or the loss of his arm. Wincing at that possibility, he could watch no longer. He walked instead into the main room and planned to move his white pawn a square. Malik's black pawn blocked his path. _So you block me... will you wall me out? Or will you kill me?_ He moved the next pawn forward two places into a square where Malik's pawn could take it. _We are nothing but pawns... can I trust you? Will you catch me when I fall?_

He abandoned the board and looked over the map of Acre on the counter that Malik was working on. He noted the red stain on the floor and felt a chill creep through him. His golden eyes snapped to Malik wondering if he was hurt, if this blood was his. He knelt to see how old it was; maybe it belonged to another assassin. It had been so well wiped, he almost missed it. There was no way to tell how fresh the stain was. His sharp eyes studied Malik from where he knelt. Malik slept with slow even breaths. Altaïr sighed in relief.

He eased the wood gate open and moved behind the counter. A quick peek into the back room told him no one was there healing. _Then why is he in MY bed?_

"_Malik! Why are you in my bed?" declared Altaïr after the brief celebration of his fourteenth birthday. _

"_Because I find you in mine all the time," Malik countered, eyes teasing._

Altaïr shook his head of the memory, one long gone now. He dared not go into this private area. Not again. Instead he invaded Malik's privacy in other ways. He set a handful of feathers, from an eagle point he had collected on the way, on top of the box where Malik kept them. Then removed the log book carefully, glancing up often to make sure Malik was not waking. He opened it to the back entries. Altaïr could not help the small smirk as he read the note of what Malik intended for him. He searched for a scrap of paper and some means to write. On this scrap he wrote a note. It had lots of scratching out and retrying. Writing was not easy for Altaïr. It took more concentration than he ever wanted. When he was finally done and the ink dried, he folded it and slipped it in between the pages to mark where Malik left off in the back of the log book. His pulse raced a little nervously at this note he left. He replaced the book perfectly.

He wiped some sweat from his brow annoyed that he should stress so much over something so small. His footfalls remained silent as he returned to the souk where he stood over Malik wondering what to do next. Malik hugged a large pillow. Altaïr could imagine both Malik's arms tucked under it comfortably, but there was just the one. He carefully stepped over the sleeping form and knelt down. His eyes noted ever line and edge, ever hair, the play of moonlight on Malik's cheek. Very carefully he rested his hand on Malik's back. There was a soft murmur but no more. Since Malik did not stir, he ventured to touch through Malik's hair with his left hand. The thick dark hair poked between his fingers. He smiled as he played through Malik's hair a while. Malik was always the deeper sleeper between them. "Safety and Peace, Malik," he whispered as he drew away. He climbed back up the fountain and out of the Bureau to find a roof souk to sleep in.

"... Mmmm? Altaïr?"

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A/N #2 – In honor of MIYOart's 'Solace of Night' picture. (see link and remove spaces)

http:// miyoart .deviantart .com/art/Solace-of-Night-159093737


	14. Chapter 14: Malik's Chasm

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr And Malik  
Chapter 14 – Chasm**_

A/N #1 – This is all about touch and go. The bad blood between Malik and Altaïr make it hard to overcome and reconnect. Malik is temperamental for many more reasons than just what Altaïr has been held responsible for. I may reveal some of that later in another chapter. Altaïr carries the weight of that responsibility, constantly reminded of his failures... no longer the Great Eagle of Masyaf, not in his own eyes anyways. Two broken men, will they ever heal?

* * *

"Safety and Peace, Malik," Altaïr whispered as he drew away. He climbed back up the fountain and out of the Bureau to find a roof souk to sleep in.

"... Mmmm? Altaïr?"

Malik thought he heard Altaïr's voice. He opened his sleep blurred eyes to the moonlit sight of white and grey fluttering wings by the edge of the roof access to the Bureau. He almost concluded it was just pigeons, but his back was still warm where Altaïr's hand had rested against it. A lump choked Malik's throat a moment and he had to swallow several times for composure. As he scrubbed his eyes to clear away the sleep, he noted that the food had been eaten from the tray, and the basket left off. He tiredly cleaned up, sort of. He abandoned the tray on his counter as he passed to his rear private room where he slept, figuring Altaïr was not coming this night.

Malik woke early, worry gnawing his gut still. Another assassin arrived in the Bureau to exchange news and guidance for his next mission. His bald head beaded slightly with sweat from the heat of the day. His target was a specific Templar coordinating inspection efforts. When he left for his mission, Malik wondered why in all of God's glory Altaïr could not so easily follow respectful protocol like this man.

He had his large log book on the counter to record the mission and who was on it and the news from Masyaf. Belatedly, he regretted not asking about why trainees were being sent to Jerusalem with their mentors. He promised himself he would ask when the assassin returned with his information, when he came to get the feather for his kill.

He never saw the slip of paper marking the back of the book as he thumped it back under the counter on a shelf. He did however note the collection of eagle feathers. How could he not? As his book thumped, the feathers puffed off the shelf to scatter all over the floor. There was a moment of confusion on his face till he concluded that Altaïr was indeed here. He snatched up each feather as if he could strangle them in Altaïr's place. _Where the hell are you? What part of show up every day and give me news did you NOT understand! You never listen and follow the rules!_ He grumbled through most of his day.

Altaïr did drop in around lunch. He stopped at the door. Malik looked up. The silence grew uncomfortable between them until Altaïr took several slow steps into the room. Malik glared at Altaïr and returned his attention to the map. He tried to banish his anger for being made to worry. He covertly watched Altaïr, though. The assassin really was reserved and restrained about coming in here. Then why touch him while sleeping? It really muddled Malik's emotions and he hated feeling out of sorts.

"Safety and peace, rafiq."

Malik lifted his head repeating the greeting. Only then did he actually note the missing left glove. "Altaïr, where is your glove?" as if he spoke to a petulant child. He could see the bandaging around the hand and the fresher spots of blood from climbing with a wounded hand.

"I discarded it," was Altaïr's simple husky excuse.

Malik was immediately vexed by Altaïr's disregard. "You can't just go throwing these things away! Altaïr, it could have been salvaged."

"No, it was ruined. It could not." Altaïr's voice rose a little with indignation.

"Altaïr everything can be salvaged!" Malik found himself snapping loudly enough to be considered almost yelling. He expected Altaïr to yell back.

And he did, "I cannot be salvaged!"

They both froze.

Altaïr's hands fisted tightly and shook slightly. If the silence earlier was uncomfortable, this was definitely more so. Malik didn't expect those words, of any words, to come from Altaïr. He wanted to contradict Altaïr but could not find his voice. Altaïr was already turning away.

Malik retrieved a small box of bandages and salve. He wanted to get Altaïr to stay still long enough to properly treat all those wounds he had seen when Altaïr had bathed. Instead he insisted on seeing the hand. Altaïr was mysteriously always a fast healer, almost unnaturally. But his wounds did still take some time. If infected, or worse healed over and infected, they could be the death of him. That anxious thought turned his next request into a harsh demand unintentionally. "Remove the bandages, wash it and come back for me to see it."

Altaïr's wary step away reminded Malik yet again how poorly chosen his tone was. Altaïr's shoulders were sagged enough that Malik noticed. He also noticed how Altaïr complied with this demand with no complaint, but for how long? Likely only long enough till he could take flight again like a wary wounded eagle. Altaïr retreated cautiously into the souk and filled a basin with water from the fountain to wash. Malik hmphed in surprise that Altaïr remembered to not dirty the drinking fountain.

While Altaïr washed his hand, Malik located a replacement glove from the supply trunk. The chessboard caught his eye with the sacrificial white pawn. In light of what flew from Altaïr's lips, a sacrificial pawn made depressing sense. Malik moved a pawn forward to be diagonal to Altaïr's second pawn, offering his own sacrifice or giving Altaïr's pawn room to pass between his two black ones. _We are equals Altaïr._

Altaïr returned to the room by the time Malik was behind the counter again. The Acre map was rolled to protect it. Without a word, Altaïr held out his hand. Malik took it remarkably gently in his own and looked at it. There was a second cut added to the first one he had bandaged, but it was not too terrible. He rubbed the healing salve into it and rebandaged it while Altaïr held very still. Malik inspected the wrist blade to make sure it was not damaged and considered Altaïr lucky his wrist was not sliced.

The quiet was so powerful that Malik felt he could not disturb it much. He asked in a hushed voice, "Are you hurt anywhere else?" He looked into Altaïr's face, but the hood shadowed most of it. The urge to push it back and see Altaïr's eyes was strong, but he knew he could not reach that far with the counter between them. Maybe Altaïr planned that. Maybe Malik did unconsciously out of habit of being angry and distrustful of Altaïr. It was too late to change that now.

Altaïr turned his head and Malik thought he would leave. His posture was of slight guilt, he had seen it before. It was both admittance that yes he was wounded elsewhere and refusal. "It is just a graze," his deep voice was almost a whisper.

"Let me see it?" Malik asked, hoping his gentler tone would encourage Altaïr to trust him at least to heal him.

Malik was disappointed though as Altaïr turned him down. "I will be fine. You are busy... and I have yet to find news of my target."

Malik burst out of frustration, "I have seen you wounded before. I have seen the marks on you from your other missions. The Dai of the Bureaus are all skilled in mending these. Have you not let them either?"

"They aren't... not..." Altaïr changed topic most annoyingly, "The rafiq of Acre's hand is old and shakes."

"Clearly so does yours with how badly those other wounds healed. At least he had salves!" Malik could not understand why his anger was overpowering him. Altaïr seemed to drive it out of him. "What about in Damascus? Did you not bother their either?"

After some silence Altaïr retreated to the door of the souk. Over his shoulder he shot back, "he refused." And fled out the roof access.

_Refused?_

Healing was one of the crucial responsibilities of a Dai in the Bureau. Each rafiq was trained in simple mending, enough to save a life or hold it till a trusted physician could be found. Malik was more than shocked to hear the rafiq in Damascus refused to heal Altaïr. It added to the other worrisome things he had heard over the year. While he healed some from the loss of his brother and his arm, and didn't exactly hold Altaïr at fault for either anymore, other still did. He understood how Altaïr was not responsible, yet Al Mualim made a spectacle of Altaïr and thus branded him a traitor in the minds of all other brothers.

The chasm was so wide between Malik and Altaïr. They had been forced apart by their duties as assassins on solo missions, driven apart by some unknown plan. The catastrophe of Solomon's Temple split an unbreachable gorge in their hearts. The chasm was only further widened by blood and hurt emotions, and new roles and positions within the Order. They were two eagles, who had flown as one for so long, that now flew solo and alone. Both bore the hardship of broken wings in different ways. Both lost their mate in that one catastrophe. The questions that hung in the air like a stray feathers was... how to bridge the gap. Can the gad be bridged?

Malik recalled the warmth on his back from what he was sure now was Altaïr's hand there when he had woke last night. Altaïr wanted to be close, to trust and be trusted. So did Malik. They just could not figure out how.

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A/N #2 – This chapter is sadly art-less... if you want to make art for it... HUZZAH! Let me know.


	15. Chapter 15: Altair Hurting

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr And Malik  
Chapter 15 – Hurting**_

A/N #1 – Some things cannot be left on their own... neither can some people.

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Malik recalled the warmth on his back from what he was sure now was Altaïr's hand there when he had woke last night. Altaïr wanted to be close, to trust and be trusted. So did Malik. They just could not figure out how.

Already in flight, Altaïr found he could not stop his feet and hands from doing what they knew by instinct. Run. Climb. Jump. Hide. He finally had to stop just to catch his breath. He looked around to see where he had ended up. A wall? The wall. He was at the edge of Jerusalem. Many upset pigeons flapped in his face their protest to his invasion. Their fear-filled wing beats echoed his heart beats. He sat on the edge of the building and leaned against the wall. Below his dangling feet was a hay stack, but it did not beg to be scattered by his drop.

Altaïr stared down at the new glove, now dusty and slightly worn from his flight. We wished Malik were not always so angry with him. It was not like invited this scrap with Templars and guards. It was not like it was his fault that the Dai of Damascus bureau refused to heal him. Ok, maybe it was. It was his fault that he broke the tenants of the Creed. It was his fault that he instigated a scene that in the end got Kadar killed, it was his fault for not insisting on getting healing. He just... didn't trust them anymore than they trusted him.

It was no different than when he was in repeated scraps as a child in Masyaf. He was always so different. Looking different didn't help. His skills that matched those older than he, didn't help. His strange ability to heal faster than normal and do some things people thought impossible, made him ... different. He strove so hard to be like them, to be the best and earn their respect. Everyone seemed jealous of him, back then, even Malik.

"_Another fight, __Altaïr." Malik's barely cracking pre-teen voice chided._

_Altaïr crossed his arms. "I didn't start it! It's not my fault!"_

_Malik turned his back on the twelve year old near blond boy and adjusted his book under his arm. "Maybe if you settled down and studied with me sometimes, you would be in trouble less." _

_The stood defiantly back to back for a long while. Finally Malik gave in, "Are you hurt? Let's go back to our room and get you cleaned up."_

"_I'm fine. It doesn't hurt..." However, Malik ignored little Altaïr and tugged him by the sleeve back to their room._

Altaïr wanted Malik to do that again. To just know he needed help and reach out to tug him into the safety of his room and heal him. They were grown men now. They were busy with very different duties. Too busy. And every time Altaïr tried to get close, to say something, it ended in another fight. The fights were harsher earlier in the year. Now there were moments, just moments, where Malik seemed gentler. Altaïr desperately wanted to trust him. He left a note... but either Malik didn't yet see it or Malik didn't care.

Below were to man discussing the Regent. Altaïr banished his thoughts of Malik and focused back to his mission. These men served in the prison and one had a map to help him find his way so he could clean it. They murmured about the horrors and tortures done to some of the prisoners: beatings with blunt objects; strange metal contraptions imported from England, France and Germany; how the interrogator broke men by raping them first; and how the Regent watched.

As they walked away back to their families, both feeling better for having had a moment to get the shock of what they witnessed out of them in at least this supposedly private nook between buildings and the city wall, Altaïr dropped to the ground. Fire bloomed under his skin where his leg was cut and he hissed himself into silence. Pain was nothing. It could be ignored. So he ignored it and continued on after the man with the map. Like a pale shadow, Altaïr trailed after him. Feather light fingers caught the map from the back of the man's pouch. Altaïr stood still as the man continued walking. The map slipped from the pouch and remained trapped in Altaïr's claws. Altaïr turned with an irresistible smirk, tucking the map into his robe's inside pocket. Behind him he heard the man curse and fret about the loss of the map. He took slow steps away becoming invisible in the crowd.

Perhaps it was God or Allah that guided his flight to here where he would finally find information. He walked through the crowds listening to bits of stray conversations; however there seemed to be nothing more useful here. He meandered his way into the middle district to the church Malik had suggested the other day. He sat upon a bench to just relax and listen to the talk of this area. He could see one of the informants in a corner of shade by a tree. A bald assassin manifested from a group of monks to speak to the informant. Altaïr nodded with approval and let his eyes drop back to the stones at his feet.

He felt hot, the sweat making his under tunic itch. The afternoon sun seemed to bake him even through his white robes which were intended to ease such heats. He mopped his face with a hand. His ears finally picked up the Regent's name in hissed and stressed tone. A father was fretting about his son's capture and immanent punishment, unjustly. He was trying to get a friend to conspire with him to free his son. "It would be a perfect time. They will hang my son in the mason's square. The Regent will do as he usually does and make grand speeches, gloating about his power. I will do it then." The friend had more sense and told the father he was a fool for thinking it. "But he's my only son! He did nothing wrong! I am not going to let this tyrant continue." He stormed off from the friend resolved in his decision. Altaïr shook his head. _People like that need to hire people like me._

He lost track of the conversations around him a bit and only realized it when the sun was setting. He stood feeling nauseous. Maybe it was from stupidly sitting in the sun all afternoon. Oh, or maybe from missing both breakfast and lunch. He paid for some food from a stall so no one thought he was anything more than another citizen. He nibbled it not really interested in it. His thoughts straying back to Malik.

His mind busy wrapping around the conflicted thoughts and feelings about Malik, he never really noticed the people around him. He wove around them. They wove around him in a seemingly natural flow. He climbed a convenient ladder. Armed with some news at last, Altaïr hopped from roof to roof till he tiptoed across the wood planks that would get him from the building he was on to the Bureau.

As he dropped into the Bureau's souk with the bubbling fountain, he honestly thought it would be cooler. It wasn't. It was just as stiflingly hot. Cautiously he entered the Bureau, but did not see Malik. He poked around the various rooms and still no Malik to yell at him or force him to sit and be healed. He touched over the bandaged gash in his thigh which was especially burning now. In the souk, he removed weapons and armour, resolved to wash the wound again and maybe cool the annoying burning feeling. He stripped his clothes off in the safety of the souk and left them in a bacheloresque pile on the carpets.

He sucked through his teeth as he peeled the sweaty and sticky bandage from his thigh, recalling Malik's words about his poor skills in healing. As if on cue, he heard Malik unlock the door and enter the Bureau. Altaïr glanced over his shoulder at his pile of clothing. There would be no way to be dressed swiftly enough. So, he continued washing the wound with a cloth and basin of water. Malik was yet unaware Altaïr was even there, so Altaïr listened and spied through the window that seemed to house the pigeons. Malik was in an especially foul mood. He slammed an almost broken basket on the floor by the counter, pulled off his torn black robe and cursed about being under cover and useless.

Altaïr realized Malik must have had to pretend to be a helpless cripple in the market and get picked on for it. It was like rubbing salt into a wound... the wound of the lost arm. Altaïr winced for Malik. _He needs an apprentice here. He needs some kind of help. I thought all Bureau's had some help. Why leave him without?_ It bothered Altaïr that someone would dare touch Malik. He wanted to kill the bully. His nudity at the moment kept him from rushing in to demand who was responsible. He vowed to try to run some errands for Malik, to save him that embarrassment. _I have to lurk and find information anyways. This will help me look like I belong in the area doing so._ He drew his arm across his brow which was still sweating and gritted his teeth as he wiped the ugly red and swollen gash. It will make yet another ugly scar on his body to add to the growing collection.

As Malik donned a clean black robe he saw the pile of clothing and leathers and weapons on the carpets through the door to the souk. Recognizing the embroidery that was on Altaïr's tabard and Altaïr's alone, he near stomped into the souk ready to yell at him for... who knew what. He stopped in the doorway and stared instead. Altaïr glanced over his shoulder and away again, guilty maybe. He shot a hand to the wall to steady himself as his world tilted unnaturally. The bloody cloth dropped to the floor. He frowned deeply trying to breathe through this discomforting sense of disorientation.

* * *

A/N #2 – The grumpy kid memory. Thanks to Deviant Art and the discovery of tapkala's sketch that inspired the memory. Her's the link, remove the spaces.

http:// tapkala .deviantart .com/art/childhood-152657169?q=favby%3Ascarletcougar%2F39851413&qo=42


	16. Chapter 16: Malik's Breakthrough?

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
Chapter 16– Breakthrough?**_

A/N #1 – All I can say is… OUCH!

* * *

As Malik donned a clean black robe he saw the pile of clothing and leathers and weapons on the carpets through the door to the souk. Recognizing the embroidery that was on Altaïr's tabard and Altaïr's alone, he near stomped into the souk ready to yell at him for... who knew what. He stopped in the doorway and stared instead. Altaïr glanced over his shoulder and away again, guilty maybe. Malik watched as Altaïr shot a hand to the wall to steady himself as his world tilted unnaturally. The bloody cloth dropped to the floor. A frown creased Altaïr's brow deeply as he tried to breathe through this discomforting sense of disorientation.

Malik felt dirty and scruffy from being shoved around, but light scrapes could wash easily away. Altaïr was exhibiting something that would not just wash away. Malik wondered what had happened the other night because THAT was not just a graze. Or at least it certainly isn't now. Aggravated and infected as it was, Malik knew this needed attention. When Altaïr nearly toppled for no reason, he instinctively rushed to catch him. Altaïr's skin was hot and fevered.

Despite his repeated mumbles that he was fine, Malik managed to get him seated on the carpets with cushions to support his back. There were so many things Malik desperately wanted to say to Altaïr in very loud admonishing tones. But he dared not in case Altaïr fled again. Although, a fleeing naked Altaïr brought a slight smirk to his face. With salves, a knife fresh bandages, a liquid caustic cleanser, and an elixir, Malik set to work.

Now and then he had to stop and shove Altaïr back down, "Be still!" He scrubbed and scraped at the gash, cutting here and there to open it and push out the infection. He washed it thoroughly and deeply. His eyes darting up to Altaïr's face which was pale as the assassin robes. His normally light brown hair was darkened and clinging to his face with sweat. However, Altaïr never made a sound. It was like when Malik's brother stitched his face. "Easy brother," Malik tried to reassure him. The fast breathing gave away that he was not well. He poured the caustic fluid over the wound and could not tell the hiss of the liquid in the wound from the hiss Altaïr made fighting making a sound from the pain.

Malik dipped his hand in the cool fountain water then pressed it onto Altaïr's neck. The coolness brought out a sigh and Altaïr opened his golden eyes. "I am going to stitch it. Can you be still?" Altaïr simply nodded. Malik listened to the forced control in Altaïr's breathing as he began to stitch and tug one handed at the wound. Altaïr's muscles twitched with each tug. A fist rose and thudded into the carpet. Malik was sure that it was going to thud into his face. He did not pause till he was done stitching. Again he poured the antiseptic fluid over the wound. Again Altaïr hissed.

Malik stepped away for a clean basin of water and a cup. He filled one then the other. Altaïr accepted the cup of water silently. Malik gently washed the wound and dried it. "This will heal faster and better for my care." He tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice. He opened the jar of salve and set it down. He could not apply it and hold it at the same time. He delicately dabbed the gash with the salve. His focus there he did not see the strained look on Altaïr's face till the assassin's throat constricted and his breathing became staggered. Malik sat back to let Altaïr recompose. _He must feel like no one cares for this small bit of care to choke him so much. But then… care has been refused him. _He already sent a pigeon to Al Mualim and to the Dai of Damascus to give them both a piece of his mind over that.

He took advantage of the fact that Altaïr was staying still and started to dab salve on other neglected wounds. "So, what news have you found so far? Anything worthy of note?" using this to help bring Altaïr's focus back.

After clearing his throat, Altaïr replied shakier than expected, "I… acquired a map of the prison. And… and I learned of the tortures and cruelties that go on within." Malik heard the confidence thankfully creep back into Altaïr's voice as the assassin continued. "The jailer is a vile man who tortures the prisoners with metal contraptions imported from overseas, breaking them by raping them and much more. The Regent likes to watch."

He flinched and watched Malik apply salve to a slow healing wound along his ribs, "Hugging swords in battle is not healthy." It was a joke Faruq used to say when a novice got caught in the ribs with a sword slice. "Go on," prompted Malik.

"Some man's supposedly innocent son has been taken prisoner and will be hanged as an example in the mason's square. I don't yet know when. Apparently the Regent likes to take time to regale people at length before a hanging. The man is planning to foolishly try to kill the Regent himself then." Both Malik and Altaïr shook their heads knowing how that will end.

Malik salved the small shoulder wound that Altaïr had completely ignored and even forgot he had till the sting of the salve made him aware. Malik paused to make sure Altaïr didn't make to hit him. When the blow never came, he continued. This was too rare an opportunity. For good measure, Malik even dabbed some salve on the slightly split bruise on Altaïr's temple and the scrape on Altaïr's chin.

Malik's hand lingered there rebelliously. His dark eyes stole the chance into look Altaïr's. They search each other's eyes longer than necessary before they both looked away.

"Altaïr, Come see me when you need healing. I won't ever turn you away." Malik meant more in his last words, but didn't think Altaïr would understand. He drew back and bandaged the leg now that it had time to calm from the stitching.

Malik headed off to get some food as Altaïr clothed himself again. When Malik returned he insisted Altaïr swallow a spoonful of a foul elixir. That struggle nearly came to blows. "Just swallow the damned stuff! You fevered obnoxious ass!" He gave Altaïr little choice. The second Altaïr opened his mouth to yell back, in went the spoon. He retreated from the angry eagle swiftly to avoid being harmed. He knew he already pushed the limits of Altaïr's tolerance.

To diffuse the anger he asked, "So you have a map? Show me?"

Altaïr pulled out the map he had pick-pocketed and set it on the counter where they could both look at it. Malik found the counter between them again and Altaïr securely hidden beneath his hood again. _I will break through your armour. I need to… for us both._ He recognized that he came close this evening. They nibbled off the same tray absently as they analyzed the map together.

* * *

A/N #2 – Some artist MUST have something for this chapter… come on… naked Altaïr running through Jerusalem! Even if that was only in Malik's head… it is still funny and I would love to see someone draw that!


	17. Chapter 17: Altair Drugged

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
Chapter 17**_

A/N #1 – I know… short… too short… it had to be… SORRY!

Altaïr pulled out the map he had pick-pocketed and set it on the counter where they could both look at it. The counter provided the familiar security of that chasm between them again and Altaïr safely hid beneath his hood. He recognized that he came close this evening to breaking under Malik's administrations. They nibbled off the same tray absently as they analyzed the map together.

Hidden in the shadow of the hood, he listened to Malik describe the puzzling items of the map, magically understanding the squiggly codes. Altaïr envied him this gift of being able to decipher anything in writing. This was emotionally safer than having Malik touch and heal him. There was a terrifying moment back then when Altaïr thought he was going to either sob in front of someone who really didn't care (_"Go cry in the corner or do whatever it is you do before a mission, only do it quietly!"_) or he was going to blurt out so much blasphemous things about the order or what he has been experiencing when he makes his kills that killing him would really be a kindness, like the Hospitalier maybe?

Altaïr shook his head to banish the stray distracting thoughts. He heard Malik pause, having noticed the hood shake. "Don't tell me you actually want to try to get on the inside of this abomination they call a prison in order to make your kill, Altaïr. I agree with that father who wants to free his son. Your target will be more vulnerable at the hanging where he thinks that all his guards could protect him from an assassin of your skill."

Rolling with the misunderstanding, Altaïr nodded agreement. "I need more information. And need to know the layout of this mason's square." He waited for a retort from Malik about how he was maybe learning after all. It didn't come. Altaïr realized he was actually learning from this humiliating and humbling experience, but he didn't need his nosed rubbed in it. "Did you get my note?" The question came out unbidden and Altaïr wished he could swallow the words back.

"Note?" Malik's confusion clearly confirmed Altaïr's assumptions. "No. You actually wrote something?" It was a tease, but Altaïr did not interpret it as such.

He turned away with a snarl. Grabbed something off the plate and stormed into the souk to flop on the carpets, back to Malik. He heard Malik curse under his breath and roll up the map. He could not actually eat the piece of bread he had snatched. The first bite was hard to swallow around the lump of frustration in his throat. _Nothing is true… everything is permitted._

He felt very alone that moment. He discarded the bread for the pigeons to peck at. Malik was back to slamming things around in his frustration with Altaïr. Things only got quiet when he finally did find the note. Altaïr pretended to sleep. The sound of a quill scatching paper filled the next couple hours. Altaïr was almost curious to see what, but figured Malik was just doing what Malik does… taking notes, being a Dai. Malik was always busy when Altaïr came to the Bureau. He often felt like he was intruding. Sleep crept up on him. He fought it as hard as he could, especially when he realized he had been drugged. It was a losing battle. Malik had won this. And in doing so, lost a little more of Altaïr's trust.

A/N #2 – No art… sadly…


	18. Chapter 18: Malik and the Note

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
Chapter 18 - note**_

A/N #1 – Everyone has lessons to learn… even from each other.

* * *

Malik was back to slamming things around in his frustration with Altaïr. Things only got quiet when he finally found the note.

_Malik_

_I'll practiss if you want me to_

_Find me a book to right in_

_Hide my insanity from others_

_~~Nothing is true… everything is permitted~~_

_Master tot me this superseeds the Creed_

_The fog comes again with each kill_

_I don't know what is right or wrong_

_I am trying… really trying to live by the Creed_

_Pleez help me_

_I need you_

_I need someone I can trust_

_Someone new an assassin was here._

_I tried to save a citizen from French guards._

_Trap._

_Templar waiting…. for an assassin._

_Altaïr_

Malik resisted the urge to correct grammar and spelling. He was amazed by how much Altaïr had written, truth be told. He read the note many times just because Altaïr had written it. Altaïr wasn't much for speaking either. This was more words that Malik had heard from Altaïr in several months put together, maybe even in the whole year. It was almost poetic to look at, once you could decipher the chaos of the scribbling, of course. Reading Altaïr's writing was one of his excuses to people as to why he could read anything.

In the back of his log book, Malik added to officially get Altaïr a journal. The assassin had agreed to do something Malik wanted. He had at first wondered why. But the rest of the note made that plain. Things were going on inside Altaïr's head that he was too afraid to express and thought he was going mad from them. Maybe he was. Or maybe he will if he gets no safe outlet for them.

It was blasphemy to claim something superseded the Creed. Only Allah did or God or whatever divine you held to when you went to meet it. And this is what Altaïr had been taught by Master Al Mualim? No wonder Altaïr thought he could do whatever he had pleased arrogantly. Whatever was the means to complete the mission did not matter. _Nothing was true and everything is permitted._ This is what Altaïr had said at Solomon's Temple. It made sense now. Horrible gut wrenching sense. It also implicated Al Mualim as a traitor to the order.

_The fog…_

When Altaïr was a novice, he was plagued by dreams and often saw odd things that came to pass. Most of that faded save for one talent. When Altaïr took a life, Altaïr had once told him that time stopped and fog came. Said that the dead and dying spoke to him there in the fog. It sounded crazy. Malik had believed him though. He had researched some of the things Altaïr learned from the dead. When they were split up and sent on solo missions, Altaïr stopped mentioning it. On their way to Solomon's Temple, Altaïr did say someing. It had been disregarded and Malik wished deeply that he had listened then instead of being jealous and angry at Altaïr. _"I wish you didn't come. I don't want to meet either of you in the fog."_ Malik wondered what Altaïr was finding in the fog with each of his missions this year. Whatever it was, it was making Altaïr question… question everything.

He had to concede that Altaïr was trying to live by the Creed. He really did improve with each mission. Someone should tell him so. Malik decided he would when Altaïr completed this mission. So much of what Altaïr had learned and lived by was anything but the Creed apparently. The note showed him begging for Malik's help. He wondered if Altaïr felt as alone as he himself did. At least he had the trust of others. Everyone else seemed to hate Altaïr, sometimes even openly. _To refuse him healing!_ He made a mental note to kill that Dai on Altaïr's behalf later.

Altaïr wanted to trust Malik. Needed to. Malik looked over at the sleeping assassin on the carpets. _Offer trust and trust will be returned._ It was a lesson from Faruq. He missed his brother. Faruq went missing sometime during the mission of Solomon's Temple. So Malik had lost both brothers that day. Thinking of Faruq reminded him of another lesson, _forgiveness can help bridge the largest chasms of the soul._ Malik wasn't ready yet to really forgive Altaïr, not out loud. Not yet. Maybe soon though. Maybe when Altaïr says he's sorry first.

He looked over the note again. There was yet more evidence that Altaïr was improving and taking the lives of other people into consideration. He tried to save a citizen. He frowned though. Someone tipped off the Templars about an assassin in the city. They were laying traps for them, knowing somehow that they might try to save citizens. That would explain Altaïr's recent injuries. An act of kindness caught him in a trap. It could have been any assassin though. Malik immediately scribbled in his book to recall all the assassins as they drop through the Bureau and place them in safe houses or order them out of the city. Someone was leaking information from Masyaf. It was again more proof. He wrote much in his log book on these things as he worried about the novice on his first mission here and the bald assassin he sent off to dig up information on his target.

The sound of a quill scratching paper filled the next couple hours. Malik was sure Altaïr was asleep. Sometimes this medicine did that, but it was hard to say if it would from person to person. He put away his books and worked on the map of Acre a little longer realizing he was out of red ink. That was what he had forgotten to pick up at the market.

Rolling up the map he put it away too and proceeded with doing some knife training in the main room. He was developing moves and techniques to suit someone with one arm. One day, he might need to fight. That day seemed to inch ever closer. He wondered who he would have to fight. The thought of sparring maybe with Altaïr thrilled him. He logged that as he stripped down to just his pants and sliced and jabbed at nothing during his private practice.

He bathed after and rubbed salve into the scrapes and bruises as he watched Altaïr's breathing shift from deeper sleep to fitful sleep and back. He sat down beside him and made sure all weapons were out of reach. "Altaïr?" he whispered a few times, but the usually light sleeper did not wake. He rested his hand on Altaïr's brow, pushing the hood back a little. The fever was still there but much much less. Malik sighed with relief. It meant the medicine was working to fight the infection. He would worry less about Altaïr tomorrow now.

"Altaïr, I am sorry for not trusting you…" If only Altaïr were awake to hear him. He stayed a long while trying to ease the fitful moments of Altaïr's fevered sleep, wondering what Altaïr dreamed that would make him toss about and almost yell aloud. When the fever finally passed, Malik took to his own bed.

* * *

A/N #2 – a scene in here was inspired by doubleleaf's art on DA, but I will save the art for when I do another scene and elaborate on it so it is worthy of the shmexy art piece.


	19. Chapter 19: Altair Teen Kiss

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
Chapter 19**_

A/N #1 – I must thank all of you for reviewing this in progress work. I blame the artists of Deviant Art for inspiring me to buy a video game (the first I have ever bought in the 38 years of being alive), play it just to find out who these two boys are, and then to write fanfic. My husband still laments about the pairing. At least it is not cross-generational incest!

A/N #2 – I also must thank some of you readers for pointing me to information about the other games so I can bring in those bits of info, like Adha… and maybe later Maria. That will be an interesting complication I am sure.

A/N #3 – You have asked for more Tibah, more young novice, more back story to our boys. It can't happen in one chapter. Let's start with the last. So here it is: TEEN YAOI WARNING!

* * *

"Altaïr, I am sorry for not trusting you…" If only Altaïr were awake to hear him. Malik stayed a long while trying to ease the fitful moments of Altaïr's fevered sleep, wondering what Altaïr dreamed that would make him toss about and almost yell aloud. When the fever finally passed, Malik took to his own bed.

Altaïr woke mid-morning to a very very quiet Bureau. "Malik?" His last fading dreams were of Malik standing surrounded by fog. He sat bolt up, heart pounding, "MALIK!" It took several minutes to register where he was. Malik didn't come. He splashed water on his face from the fountain. It was just a dream. He felt more awake and hurt a good deal less. The stitches felt annoying, but it was better than his makeshift attempt at healing. If he had been angry at Malik before, that too faded while he slept. Except… except maybe the being drugged part. In hind sight, he understood it was likely an elixir against his infection. Most of those caused drowsiness.

He meandered about the Bureau. It became habit now to explore while Malik was away. Malik had to be away or he would surely have come running to tell Altaïr to not yell. He poked all the little pawns on the chess table. Just poked them. Then named them after assassins from the Order. He stopped that when he got half way through and realized how ridiculous that was. He studied the position of the pawns Malik had moved. Fingering his sacrificial white pawn he thought about his next move. He swapped the kings, putting the black king in place of his white one and the white one on Malik's side of the board. Then he knocked over with a flick of his finger the white bishops and knights. He plucked a black bishop and tucked it into the inside pocket of his robes. Malik was the educated bishop to Altaïr and he wanted to keep a little of that close to him.

After strapping on his armour and weapons he found the breakfast of eggs and cheese and sliced melons and bananas. Altaïr ate everything but the bananas. They had this weird mushy texture that just revolted him. Mix them in with gruel, fine… but sliced plain like this? Altaïr wrinkled his nose and fed them to the pigeons. "You are rats with wings, useful rats with wings but still… just rats with wings."

He wondered where Malik had gone. Maybe to the market? Then every muscle stiffened. Last night Malik had come home after having received a beating. Fiery anger sharpened Altaïr's golden eyes. He was on the roof before he knew it and … stopped. Which market? Where would Malik go? Should he stalk him and make sure he was safe? Would that just anger him? Likely. Could it blow his cover as a helpless one-armed map maker? Malik would probably reprimand him for not collecting the remainder of his information and planning his kill.

Armed with what he assumed would be Malik's response to following him, he headed to the middle district. Malik was not in the market there. _He'd kill me if I thought he could not protect himself. But … what if…NO… he'd kill me._ Altaïr moved on to his informants, recognizing them immediately. This one was glad to see him. That was a relief. He was tired of the snide comments from spies, fellow assassins and informants who thought they were assassins. Providing a little help to this one by eliminating the two guards roaming around searching for him, Altaïr earned useful information. The informant told him of workers building something in the mason's district on a deadline for the Regent.

Altaïr pick-pocketed extra throwing knives and scaled a wall to a roof. He took his time today. Easy exploration was safer for his leg. Then he took a ladder down to street level from another building to avoid an archer. He wanted badly to climb to where he saw an eagle circling. He stood still and watched it, trying to imagine he had the same freedom and knowing he didn't. The sudden shove from behind reminded him of reality. Altaïr reacted without thought. He spun on his heel. His wrist blade thrust in the chest of the attacker. The drunkard sagged to the ground. People screamed around him. A guard let out a cry of surprise. Altaïr bolted from the scene. In a cool dark alley he leaned against a wall thudding the back of his head against it. He killed an innocent. Guilt ate at him for a couple hours as he stayed hidden, waiting for the panic to die down. In that time he managed to justify his action no less than nineteen different ways.

Later, from the relative safety of a roof, he picked off aggressors who harassed citizens. He was not going to fall for that trap a second time. He was also not going to just let a woman or monk be shoved around for nothing. The monks found him later as he stepped smoothly in among them. They whispered their gratitude and that he could count on them to always hide him among their brothers. As he slipped from their midst it was with an exchange of blessings and prayers.

Altaïr had almost all the information he needed, just not the actual day of the hanging. That would be resolved by lurking about the construction site, which would serve the secondary purpose of gaining him familiarity with his kill territory. He walked all around the perimeter of the quarry. Mentally mapped the escape routes or near lack thereof. He measured with his eyes the distances. Then he boldly dropped onto the platform and walked its length a few times. This would not have been possible if people were here. No one was. That would necessitate returning another day when it was not some holy day where the citizens were busy in their holy buildings.

He ducked out of sight of a roof archer on his way back to the Bureau. Noting that there was an unusual amount at the moment, he crept into a roof souk and relaxed in the shade waiting for them to go away. There he cat-napped a bit too, reviewing what transpired between him and Malik the day before.

Altaïr could not banish the thought of Malik's hands on him once the thought popped up in his mind. The darkly tanned hand contrasted against the pale almost white chest. Malik's eyes had not changed either, they were deep brown, like coffee without milk. Altaïr swallowed and squirmed uncomfortably in the souk for a better position to sit. The heat was rising, certainly, even in this shaded place.

They used to have a good relationship when they were younger.

_In the dark and secret of their room, Malik would explore Altaïr's body as he compared anatomy to what was in the opened book beside him. "Be still Altaïr." It was hard to be still. Some touches caused him to struggle not to giggle like a child. At twelve and fourteen, they liked to believe they were no longer children. Malik had already moved past the awkward stage that Altaïr had just begun. _

_A small squeak escaped Altaïr as he face turned red. "What did you do? What did you do to me? Why is it doing THAT! It never did that before!"_

_Malik only chuckled, "Stop squirming. It is supposed to do that. It means you are no longer a baby and almost a man. Unless you want to be a baby, you can go cry in the corner and it will go away."_

_Altaïr glared back. But only for a moment as his curiosity was too strong. Malik had already moved on to legs and feet camparing as Altaïr looked down at his friend kneeling on the floor. "What are you supposed to do when it does this then?"_

_Malik sighed and got up to lock the door. "I'll show you, but don't you tell anyone. This is between just you and me. Can I trust you?"_

_Curiosity and excitement totally piqued now, Altaïr nodded eagerly. _

_Several nights here and there were like this. Malik and Altaïr exploring their own and sometimes each other's anatomy. They did things like measure and compare their parts. They 'sword duelled' with them. Sometimes late night squabbles turned into late night wrestling, that then turned into late night exhausting their urges. Sometimes they snuck out to watch the goats mating and talk about what it might be like to take a woman. They had never in their early teens engaged in anything one would call intercourse, but it came darned close sometimes. _

_One night when Malik was healing scrapes Altaïr earned from a fight to just 'prove he was better,' he touched Altaïr's face and their eyes met for a long while. Their exploring had lasted almost two years by then and emotions were starting to get mixed up in it. Altaïr had been moody and distant for a few months. Malik had worried and wanted to know what bothered him and made him fight so much. They could say nothing in the growing silence as they searched for meaning and understanding in each other's eyes. "I trust you," Altaïr whispered and closed his eyes. It was as close as one might come to saying love for Altaïr. Malik at sixteen knew somehow this was wrong, this wanting, but how could Allah forbid this much affection and forsake this much trust? Altaïr felt warm lips press against his. _

The memory made Altaïr jump awake and touch his lips with his fingers, heat burning his cheeks and sinking into his groin. He shook the ruffled awkwardness from his body and almost took flight as an archer's footfalls were heard approaching. Altaïr's eyes grew wide wondering if he had made noises in his sleep to draw attention. He debated making a kill, but there were too many archers close by. He'd never get away without becoming a pin cushion for a quiver worth of arrows. With swift fingers he removed his chest straps that helped the obvious knife to his back and shoved the whole harness under a pillow. The archer was only a few steps away. He flopped face down on the pillows, hood well covering his head and face. The archer was inches away. Altaïr rutted noisily into the pillows making loud embarrassing sexual noises. The archer's footsteps hesitated, almost stumbled. The tip of the bow lifted the souk's curtain and dropped instantly again. Fast steps away from the souk told Altaïr that the archer was suitably shocked, along with hearing the archer tell another about the poor monk thrusting pillows secretly in the souk and how Christians are crazy to deny men a woman. Altaïr might even have continued his thrusting just to please himself if he was not nearly overcome by laughter that he smothered with a pillow. He could picture to archer's eyes bugging out and regretted not looking to see that expression.

* * *

A/N #4 – no art... please draw something?


	20. Chapter 20: Malik: a boy's mission

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
Chapter 20**_

A/N #1 –You have asked for more Tibah and more young novice, so enjoy! I honestly was not going to include the little tyke... but since you all adore him so much... he's in here.

* * *

He could picture to archer's eyes bugging out and regretted not looking to see that expression. Altaïr's day was going better after all. Malik's too for that matter.

Malik always tried to make the most of his outings. He walked invisibly among the crowds of people in the early morning. His first stop was the mosque for dawn prayers. While he was not really a religious man, he did have an image to uphold here as a citizen and as a scholar. He walked to the synagogue after to speak with the rabbi about concerned citizens. Maybe there could be news from him to help fill in the gaps. Nothing had come to the rabbi's attention, but he would speak with his people and ensure they are well. A trip then to the local church on his way to the market of the rich district revealed the celebration of some saint or other. He noted which one and watched some of the service. Christians were so extravagant sometimes. Malik preferred the Jews who tended to celebrate around a feast instead.

His casual morning walk brought him at last to the busy market. He looked around warily to see if the usual thugs were about. He needed to replenish the supplies of throwing knives in the supply box. He grinned as he managed to slip them from a few thugs even one handed. _You only need one hand to swipe a little knife._ Or to swipe a bit of information from someone's pocket. He practiced that as well when the opportunity arose with information he could pass to the bald assassin for that one's mission. There was a little thrill in these accomplishments that reminded him he had not lost his touch.

It was with good humour that he approached the apothecary stall. Tibah was not there, but her father and one of her other sisters. That was in a way a relief. He exchanged greetings with the man and asked how his family was, how the wife was handling her pregnancy. That news was a little distressing. She was having a difficult pregnancy. Tibah arrived soon with breakfast for her family at the stall. Her brother trailed after her trying to look menacing. To the average citizen, the young man probably did. To Malik, well, Malik almost had the urge to correct things and teach him other places to look and who to be more wary of.

"Hello rafiq!" her cheery voice did not hold the plotting he always sensed when she had visited the Bureau. "We are ready to prepare the ink you require." She offered him some sliced mango which he accepted before realizing the message that immediately popped into Tibah's father's eyes. She smiled prettily as she too nibbled. After wiping her hands clean she got to work on making the red ink.

Malik felt like the noon sun had risen to bake him in his black robes. It was barely mid-morning. He cleared his throat awkwardly. This girl was nice, pretty, for someone only fifteen. But Malik was not at all interested in a wife. _Is that what she is planning? Will she ask that in exchange for her gifts? How foolish of me!_

He paid for his ink and melted into the crowd as quickly as he could. _Would a wife be such a bad idea? _He thought how much easier it would be to manage some things with an extra pair of hands. How it would not be so lonely. He wondered if he should petition Al Mualim for it. Then he remembered the doubts he had of Al Mualim. And the way Al Mualim sometimes forcibly arranged marriages.

Altaïr had been forced to take Adha. But she was stolen away before they could be wed. And about nine maybe ten months ago, Altaïr was put with another woman who ran away. She was a smart one and as venomous as he himself could be. He felt she was suitable for Altaïr and would humble him since he could not be there to do so. Altaïr had no luck with women. They never stayed. It was just as well. Malik didn't want Al Mualim planning how to breed him like he was with Altaïr. _We are not livestock to stud and breed for the best. And really... is Altaïr the best?_ It was mocking. Altaïr was the best. Malik alone could defeat him in a sword duel. One on one, Altaïr was a force to be wary of. Malik's mind was plagued by thoughts of Altaïr all the way to the Bureau.

As he reached the Bureau and walked through the little outside garden to his door, someone had lingered on the bench waiting. The small boy swung his legs scissor-like while seated. His grey green eyes sparkled when he saw Malik. "I found you! All on my own! Safety and peace rafiq."

It was good to see that boy that Altaïr had saved looking so well. He was dressed in grey and tan clothing, the trainee clothes of the Order. Although, he sported the same green scarf as before. Kadar was much the same. When Kadar had gotten lost in the kingdom from his horse riding trainer and his horse, an assassin found him hiding from a Templar in old laundry, under a woollen blanket. After the Templar was dispatched and Kadar brought safely back home, Kadar kept the blanket he hid under in his bed for several years. This boy will likely do the same with the green scarf. "What brings you here, novice?"

As they entered, the boy answered, "I am on a mission!"

"Are you now? Come inside then and tell me of your mission." Malik unlocked and opened the door inviting the boy within.

The boy could hardly stop bouncing with his glee and success thus far. "The first part of my mission was to find you, on my own. I have a map... My mentor said you made it!" He dug it crumpled from his pocket to show it off. "I was not allowed to be on any roofs, not even to peak if I got lost."

"And? Did you? How would we know if you did or did not?" Malik tested the boy as he put his ink on the counter and retrieved his map of Acre to work on.

"No! No way, rafiq. I did not! I would never break the rules. How could I ever be trusted if I don't do as I am told for my missions? I was told to stay off the roofs, maybe they are full of archers and it was to protect me. I would never lie to any of the Brothers of the Order." He stood on his toes to see the map. "Ooooo... what map is that?"

Malik could not help but smile, this boy was infectiously joyful to have. "This is the city of Acre. It is west of here. Novice? Your mission?"he prodded.

"Oh right! My mission. I was told that I was not permitted to leave here till I met with you and earned an eagle feather for my mission." He looked hopefully at him with such large eyes and Malik was sure this boy knew how to charm people to get what he needed and wanted.

"Do you know what you are asking for? The eagle feathers are hard to come by and need to be earned with tasks. They are given only to an assassin who has learned everything he can about his mark and is ready for his kill." He was surprised by the boy's request, and yet took it very seriously.

The boy was serious too. "I know. I am on an assassination mission for my mentor. There is a dog in the area destroying his garden. It belongs to someone. We are certain. My mission is to assassinate the dog." He rocked back onto his heels. "It is a menace."

"What do you know of your target? Who is its owner? What is its route? Where is the best place to take out your target?" These were all the same questions he would ask any novice on a first assassination mission, whether it be for just a dog or a human manace.

The boy's head dropped and his shoulders sagged. "I don't know," he confessed dejectedly.

"Then, young novice, I cannot grant you permission to make your kill. You must return to me with the answers, know everything you can of your target. Only then will you earn the feather." The boy looked up at him pleadingly. "This is the way of the Creed. You must be absolutely sure of your target so you do not accidentally kill the wrong one, or endanger others... or lead them back to the Brotherhood. Live by the Creed. Understand?"

The nodded sadly. "So, I have to go back and tell my mentor this?"

"Yes. Return to him with what I have told you. He will understand," he reassured the boy. This was the process. The boy was likely so enamoured with Altaïr that the mentor had to cave in and give the boy something of an assassin's training and not just that of an informant. He gave the boy some lunch and explained the role of the Bureau and the responsibility of the Dai and the rafiqs. Then he explained about the informants and where the boy can find one in his area to help him gain information. The boy was sent off wiser. Malik expected he would see him again soon. He logged the assassination assignment in the book with all the others and slid in a very fine eagle feather. He will show the boy how serious he took this, enough to log it. That will boost him. Only then did he have a very good laugh over it all.

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A/N #4 – no art... please draw something?


	21. Chapter 21: Altair Thrown Out

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
Chapter 21**_

A/N #1 – Sometimes old wounds are very very sensitive.

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Malik logged the assassination assignment in the book with all the others and slid in a very fine eagle feather. He will show the boy how serious he took this, enough to log it. That will boost him. Only then did he have a very good laugh over it all.

Altaïr found he, the poor sexually frustrated Christian monk, was given a way to a ladder around the archers for discretion. He was grateful for their misguided consideration. _They get to live today._ The sky told him it was later than he had expected. Feather light touches to shoulders guided women out of his way and saving him being doused with the water in jugs on their heads. From a more secluded area, he dashed across rooftops. An Arrow zinged by his ear with a warning yell. He turned and flicked out a throwing knife. It struck true and the archers crumpled onto the roof. Altaïr then dropped down to a wall that divided the mason's square from the rest of the middle district. His toed gripped the edge of the wall through his soft split-toe boots.

Still no one in sight here. Altaïr huffed. The church bells started to toll for the end of the saint day activities. They also marked the end of the day, sunset. Altaïr weighed his odds to stay and see if there were night workers or return to the Bureau and sate is ever getting louder growling stomach. He waited an hour longer before giving up for the day. Hopping from shadow to shadow, he returned to the Bureau.

Silent feet landed on soft carpet. The Bureau was still quiet. Altaïr leaned around the door to look in the main room. Malik was not there. He stepped in slowly and proceeded with his definitely now habitual exploring. He quietly lifted the lid of the supply trunk and placed in all but one of his throwing knives. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and he turned to look around. However he missed Malik's spying through the back room curtain.

He pushed back his hood, letting it fall loosely over his back. His golden eyes slowly sweeping over the chess board. He fingered some pieces again, but noticed nothing had changed from this morning. Removing the black bishop from his pocket, he rolled it in his fingers debating. Then tucked it safely back in his pocket. His fingers trailed along the edges of the table, then the counter. He delicately traced his index finger along the roads of the incomplete map of Acre. His stomach growled again, but no food had been left out. He was disappointed.

The curtain opened and Malik stepped out. Altaïr snapped his hand from the map. Without the shadows of his hood, his expressions were more plain. His eyes dropped away from Malik, avoiding both gaze and scolding. Shame knit his brows. He had been caught snooping. He backed up a pace or two. "Safety… and peace rafiq," he managed to fumble out.

"Have you news then of your target's schedule?" Malik asked disregarding Altaïr and focusing on his map.

_He is always too busy…._

"No. No one was at the site." Altaïr Amended quickly, "I will try again tomorrow."

"The Christians were feasting for some St. Basil the Great today. If you …" Malik closed his mouth on whatever was going to come out. "If you go back tomorrow, I am sure the people will be working that quarry again."

Altaïr fidgeted uncomfortably a moment longer before raising his hood and relaxing a tiny measure in its shadow. He could not understand why he could be totally naked and bathing and yet not stand here with his hood down.

"I need more rice to make some supper." Malik pointed absently up to the wooden ledges higher and close to the ceiling. "I'll get some in a moment…"

Altaïr leapt deftly to hang a moment from the ledge before pulling himself up. He stifled a sneeze at the layers of dust. He figured things up here have been here since Malik took over this Bureau. He walked crouched over trying to avoid hitting his head on the cross beams as he searched for rice. There were dusty bags of all sorts of things up here.

"I could have gotten it myself," Malik spat a little testily.

Altaïr landed with a heavy thud on the floor, a bag of rise on his shoulder. "I thought… I it was…"

"I am NOT a cripple!" The very potential implication infuriated Malik.

Altaïr snapped his mouth shut a moment. But the urge to snap back overtook him. "Then don't assume that is what everyone thinks unless it is what you yourself believe!"

Malik's hand slammed on the table so hard the incense pot jumped and toppled. "Get out, Altaïr. Get the hell out!"

Altaïr flinched wishing he had just kept his mouth shut. "Malik…"

"I SAID GET OUT!"

Altaïr fled as fast as his feet and hands could get him out the roof access. He paced the roof waiting for his heart to slow before skipping out across a few more roofs to get some distance where his kicked over crates, bloodily slaughtered a couple roof archers, beat his fists into the siding of an upper level of some building.

Once exhausted, Altaïr let his hooded brow thud dejectedly against the stone wall. He pressed his hands flat on the wall and sank slowly down to his knees. _"Altaïr, I will never turn you away."_

"You just did…"

Altaïr curled up in one of the roof souks he found shortly after to sleep fitfully till sometime in the morning.

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A/N #2 – no art... please draw something?

A/N #3 – According to: http:// ancienthistory .about .com/cs/earlychurch/p/ stbasilthegreat .htm

_St. Basil the Great is one of the three Cappadocian Fathers (with Gregory of Nyssa and Gregory of Nazianzus), and one of the Three Holy Hierarchs (with Gregory of Nazianzus and John Chrysostom). Basil's __Rules__ and __Shorter Rules__ provide the guidelines for all monastic orders in the East. St. Basil the Great was one of the 8 great Doctors of the Church (Ambrose, Jerome, Augustine, Gregory the Great, Athanasius, John Chrysostom, Basil the Great, and Gregory of Nazianzus). __Basil wrote "Longer Rules" and "Shorter Rules" for monastic life. Basil sold his family's holdings to buy food for the poor. Basil became Bishop of Caesarea in 370, at a time when an Arian emperor was ruling._

I thought this would be a saint Malik would likely visit a church for. A doctor, a scholar, someone who cared for the poor. Seemed appropriate, and historically accurate.


	22. Chapter 22: Malik Searches

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
Chapter 21**_

A/N #1 – No art is available for this chapter. Please read the author notes at the end for comments on all your reviews. Thanks for reviewing! It keeps me writing!

* * *

Malik's hand slammed on the table so hard the incense pot jumped and toppled. "Get out, Altaïr. Get the hell out!"

Altaïr flinched. "Malik…"

"I SAID GET OUT!" Malik was so angry and hurt and frustrated. His state was all Altaïr's fault. He swept his hand furiously across the counter. The incense pot scattered its contents to the floor.

Altaïr had fled as bade, the bag of rice forgotten on the table. Malik paced trying to calm himself wiping his face with his hand now and then. The day had gone so well till then. Even covertly watching Altaïr poke around the main room reminded him of when Altaïr was a quiet and curious child. He dusted off the bag of rice hardly noticing it. Altaïr was hungry, his stomach growled loud enough for Malik to notice. Now he would go hungry tonight. Malik thudded his hand on the bag of rice.

He closed his eyes and rethought through this short evening. Altaïr resupplied the throwing knives and poked at the chess board. He wondered why Altaïr kept the black bishop piece. His anger now faded. It had come so swiftly. He thought he was done being moody about what others thought of him and his lost arm. He walked over to the chess board and puzzled at the things Altaïr had done to it. There must be so much in Altaïr's mind that he can barely understand it enough to express it, or dares not for fear of the repercussion.

Repercussions.

The loss of his arm was not Altaïr's fault really. Not exactly. Malik sighed and threw his arm in the air as if to beg of Allah. He sighed again. Altaïr had dropped his hood to look at these chess pieces. Malik thought maybe Altaïr had started to feel comfortable enough to relax and do so. _And what did I just do? I flipped into fury for something he may not have meant at all._ He sighed more loudly.

"Why is it that I feel like I have to be the one apologizing? Why can't he apologize... for once... for Kadar's sake... for mine..." Malik gave up and took the rice into the back room, shoving the bookshelf aside to reveal the extra room, which had a fountain of its own, a waste area, kitchen, some storage and the stairs to the next floor. He set some rice to cook in case Altaïr returned.

Altaïr did not return though that night. Malik spent the majority of it doing the cleaning of the mess he himself made, the washing of uniforms, mending them and sharpening the various blades around. He worked out with one sword, switched to the long knife, then the short knife. Still no Altaïr.

He climbed the stairs to the second floor and stepped out onto the roof. It was too dark to really see. He could make out the souk across on the other building. But in the Dark, he was not certain anymore if he had the balance to walk the planks to the other side. Gritting his teeth and removing his black Dai robes, he made a decision. He folded them and left them on the crates on his roof.

He slowly stepped out onto the planks. His arms flung out for balance, well, the one arm did and he almost overbalanced. The sweat dampened his chest and the small of his back. Steadying his breath, he focused on the souk he could see in the moonlight across the way. He lowered his center of balance and inched out a little further. At about half way, he worked up the courage and bolts across. He felt a little stupid for being nervous. He was once a ranked assassin, almost as good as Altaïr. He lifted the veil on the souk, but no Altaïr. He cursed a series of colourful things in the first three languages he could drum up.

His eyes swept across the buildings to no avail. No Altaïr. Malik lowered his head shamefully, "Allah, keep him safe for me." Resigned, he inched his way back to the Bureau and draped his black robes over his shoulder.

He hardly slept that night himself. The sound of a crying baby now and then kept waking him. He finally got up to check. By the time he unlocked the door and stepped out into the covered garden, all was quiet. He remembered Tibah and then the women somewhat arranged to be with Altaïr. Adha... Altaïr had seemed to actually like her. He remembered feeling jealous. Then the Templars had stolen her away across the sea and Altaïr was almost insufferable. Arrogant and wilful and secretive. More so than usual. People were still looking for Adha. Altaïr had given up.

Then there was Nina. Nina was pretty and just as fiery as Altaïr. Malik was sure she was pregnant before she ran away. Altaïr managed to be away almost most of the time, and likely never noticed. Maybe that is partly why she ran. Her baby... Altaïr's baby would be what? Three months old now? Malik did some math in his head as he locked up again. She ran away when she was nearly three months in. She's been missing for almost ten months, no... Malik shook his head and recalculated. He remembered wrong. She disappeared before the mission to Solomon's Temple. And that was a practically a year ago. That would mean the baby might be nearly six months old. People were still looking for Nina and her baby, too. Altaïr never discussed her and Malik was sure he had given up on her too.

Malik remembered laying in the grass in Masyaf with Altaïr when they were younger men. Altaïr wanted a baby, wanted a son. He had met the baker's baby on an errand and was completely taken by it. Malik thought it was the cutest thing to see Altaïr all mushy over a baby. Other things complicated the notion of having a baby, namely their relationship. Malik had mentioned adoption and they discussed that a while too. But Altaïr had hardened since. Or, maybe not. Malik recalled how Altaïr was with the boy novice and how hard he worked at saving him. Maybe he should have made Altaïr his mentor. _No, Al Mualim has Altaïr on missions too dangerous for one as untrained as that boy._

He did a final check in the souk of the Bureau, fluffed the pillows and prayed again for Altaïr's return. By morning, Malik was tired, grumpy and angry again at Altaïr for making him worry all night. It would be just like a novice to run away and childishly sulk somewhere out in the unknown.

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A/N #2 – Comments on reviews categorized by chapter (1 through 11)

**Chapter 1: ****Altaïr's Prologue**

Our boys are very uncertain about one another. With a year having passed after the Solomon Temple mission, there has been some healing and some festering.

**Chapter 2: Malik's Prologue**

Yay for bitterness and longing! This is a man issue in my plot for our boys to work out.

**Chapter 3: ****Altaïr Hiding**

I promise to yank your heart-strings OFTEN! *evil grin*

**Chapter 4: Childhood**

Since Altaïr is Arabic for Great Flying Eagle, I felt it would make great writing imagery for him and his character... much as Ubisoft did.

The alternating perspectives is a personal writing challenge that I am glad is working out well and that everyone seems to like it.

Of course both men are oblivious of how the other feels. They are stubborn and proud and not yet talking to each other.

I am glad you all adore Tibah. There will be plenty more Tibah... here and there. What she wants from Malik is still my secret. Good luck puzzling it out! Yes, she is very much counter the accepted norm for women of 1192 in Jerusalem. Why else do you think she can't get any suitors and her father is practically beside himself! She is bold and she has a very specific goal in mind and won't let it go.

**Chapter 5: ****Altaïr's Scar**

Altaïr needed a back story for his scar. And there are deep and dark secrets about him and Master Al Mualim that the scar chapter hints at. Why does everyone call him Master Al Mualim or just Al Mualim while Altaïr calls him strictly Master and nothing else? What has Altaïr been learning mentored under AL Mualim? This was a formative moment in Altaïr's personality and his relationship with Malik.

**Chapter 6: Malik Watches**

_JustCoffeeThanks_ wrote: "I really like how you were able to hide the desperation behind anger in this chapter. It's very subtle, but so terribly obvious that they want to go back to the way things were, but they're both too hurt and stubborn to be the first to bend." That is exactly how I hoped the relationship would come across. Thanks for noticing!

**Chapter 7: ****Altaïr & the Novice**

I am loving writing in little children and am super happy you adore him. I was not planning on having him be there for much more than a couple chapters, but the masses demand to see more of him, so I promise more. He is infectiously adorable and totally fearless.

Secret: Altaïr really likes kids and really really wants one of his own. But sadly he has lost both children before they were even born... or has he? I think Altaïr would make a very wonderful dad, especially with his reformed understanding of the world.

Thanks everyone for pointing me to other resources for information about Altaïr's bloodline and lineage. I have only played AC1 and cannot play things not available for the Xbox. I will do my best to include the information so it is also totally plausible with my story and the pairing of Malik and Altaïr.

**Chapter 8: Malik & the Novice**

Yes... more novice and yes indeed, I think Malik would be a totally adorable daddy when no one is looking. I think he needs a daughter. Maybe later...

**Chapter 9: Broken Wings**

More than just a wing got broken from the mission at Solomon's Temple. Al Mualim thought he had severed the bonds of their relationship and secured his secrets. What happens when wings mend and hearts? Will it ever happen? Why did Al Mualim plot between our two boys?

**Chapter 10: Malik's Turmoil**

Kadar played his own parts for these two boys and I cannot forget how wonderful he was. I will bring him back here and there in dreams and memories.

_JustCoffeeThanks_ wrote "Ah, pride is such an ugly beast... Even more so when wounded." This sums it up perfectly. They are both like this and it makes rebuilding such a challenge for these men.

**Chapter 11: ****Altaïr's Mistake**

Glad no one killed me for nearly killing Altaïr.

Adha... I have not played the game for the DS that refers to her, so some research helped me a bit with this. She is the first woman that Altaïr has lost. He alone... and probably Al Mualim... know what she was, though Altaïr never told him. Altaïr had told the Master that both the woman and the treasure were lost. Somehow, even then, Altaïr knew something was not right regarding his Master.

More comments on your reviews from chapters 12 on will be in the next chapter!


	23. Chapter 23: Altair Drunk

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – No art is available for this chapter. Please read the author notes at the end for comments on all your reviews. Thanks for reviewing! It keeps me writing!

A/N #2 – Lots of updates. I am having trouble focusing on my conference paper i am supposed to be writing. When I hit writers block, I break it by writing other stuff. ENJOY!

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Malik did a final check in the souk of the Bureau, fluffed the pillows and prayed again for Altaïr's return. By morning, he was tired, grumpy and angry again at Altaïr for making him worry all night. It would be just like a novice to run away and childishly sulk somewhere out in the unknown.

Altaïr slept fitfully in one of the roof souks he found till sometime in the morning. Morning came too soon, much too soon. Altaïr dragged himself from the souk. His morning was spent lurking about the markets for food, listening to see if the workers were at the quarry, and venting the last of his frustrations on guards who harasses citizens. He left quite the bloody trail in his wake with their bodies. It necessitated laying low for the rest of the day.

He leaned carefully around a corner from a roof, but there were still too many guards and now even Templars. Altaïr bit back a curse. Lunch was well gone with the sun, as was dinner when the sun set over an hour ago. Breakfast of three plums was also long gone from him. Hunger gnaws inside his belly for a while till even that was gone. He sat trapped in this tiny crumbling nook on a roof. _Why did I run? I should not have run. He misunderstood. I was not clear. I should have been clear. Why? Why can I not speak to him? _

After another hour, Altaïr concluded because he deserved Malik's hatred.

_Nine lives for my own. Is that worth it? Is my life worth it? Nothing is true... everything is permitted... It is not a code. It is a fact of life. There is no one true way of things. Everything is possible. It is a guide. _

The epiphany roused him to look around the corner again at the Templars in the quarry and the guards still searching. _There must be another way..._ He looked down at his filthy robes while sitting in this dusty dirty nook. _Everything is permitted._ He remembered the novice boy and how he discarded his clothes, boldly ran naked through the street and convinced a woman to take pity on him. As a grown man, running naked through the street was not an option. But...

Altaïr rubbed as much of the filth and dirt as he could upon himself. Now he was darker and blended in with the rest of the dirty dusty surroundings. He crept from shadow to shadow and down the wall to where a fountain burbles into the sewage system. This alley was a dead end. The other end had too many templars to deal with now that he was out of throwing knives. The night was too quiet. A single sound would alert them and bring down more, likely roof archers. They were more dangerous in the night than Templars.

He tugged at the grill to the sewer already wrinkling his nose at what he was about to do. It did not budge. Gritting his teeth, he tugged again. The drunkard on the bench across from him woke. That kill was swift to avoid alerting the guards. _Everything is permitted..._ He was tired and almost clumsy with his kill. At least it was quiet if not clean. He donned the drunkard's clothes and cloak over his own. He had to retie his sash to hold the clothes in place, _fat drunkard._

Altaïr picked up the gourd full of ... what in Allah's name was that vile brew! He almost choked when he took the first swig to get the scent of it on his breath. He slipped some upon himself and gagged at how the smell of it mixed with the vile stench of the drunkards clothes. The fat drunkard must have vomited upon and urinated in these clothes before sleeping.

Disguised, Altaïr staggered drunkenly from the alley. The Templars, offended at the conduct and the smell gave him a wide berth. Like this, he meandered slowly through the city. Occasionally taking a sip of the brew when trouble watched him too closely. Several streets from the Bureau, Altaïr could stand it no longer. His vision was blurring and his stomach lurched from the alcohol in the empty void. He fought for control realizing he might actually be drunk. He leaned on a wall struggling as a guard came by. Unintentionally, Altaïr vomited at the man's boots. The guard cursed at him and shoved him to the ground. He vomited again. This was worse than being drunk. Altaïr was sure he had been poisoned. Not that he would know. He had never been drunk before either.

It was only as he stood did he realize the guard had actually stabbed him. He turned so fast he toppled over again in the street. The guard was many buildings away and ignoring him. The blood was warm and soaking the right side of his robes from the waist down. He dropped the gourd in favour of clutching his stomach. He vomited yet again, this time blood. This disguise... was a bad idea! He dragged himself upright again. Lurching he managed to get into an alley. He was not far now. He tried not to lean on the bloody side. No good if he leaves a blood trail. _Malik... Malik... I need you..._

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A/N #3 – Comments on reviews categorized by chapter (12 through 21)

**Chapter 12: Malik's Promise**

As promised, more Tibah. What does she have planned?

Glad you liked the sleeping in the hay with Kadar. It was a little Yaoi and hinted at the relationship between Altaïr and Malik. I will give more bits of back story about their Yaoi relationship as we go. It is quite the relationship.

**Chapter 13: ****Altaïr Solace of Night**

Written in honor of the artist of the picture.

I will never... ever... forsake plot for romance.

Men are stubborn creatures and sometimes I have to agree with some of you. Locking them in a room to punch each other a few times to get it all out of their systems is what I would love to do. But I am not there.

Trying to keep it all real and realistic.

**Chapter 14: Malik's Chasm**

Under both their angry exteriors and shadowed armour, they are both remarkably emotional gentle and hurt boys.

_JustCoffeeThanks_ hit it accurately. They are pawns of the Master. Malik sent into isolation so he cannot put all the pieces together and see who the true traitor of Masyaf is. Sewing the seeds of hatred and mistrust between our boys helped stall knowledge. If they never speak to one another, they will never figure it out. But they are communicating, albeit brokenly, and slowly they are starting to figure it out.

**Chapter 15: ****Altaïr Hurt**

This is a reminder that even though Altaïr has an unnatural ability to heal fast, he can still become ill from infections, he can still be killed. He may be a descendant of "Those Who Came Before" but he is neither immortal, not invincible (even if sometimes he thinks he is both).

**Chapter 16: Malik's Breakthrough**

Malik is a brilliant doctor, ahead of his time some might say. Maybe he too is a descendant of "Those Who Came Before"?

Tenderness used to be between them. Echoes of it linger.

**Chapter 17: ****Altaïr Drugged**

Yes... yes... sneaky Malik for managing to get medicine down Altaïr's throat.

And yes... yes... Malik is as much an ass as Altaïr. His own wounds and the dark seeds Al Mualim sewed in him makes him sometimes say the most hurtful things. Altaïr is also hurt and as sensitive emotionally as Malik.

**Chapter 18: Malik & the Note**

That note carries so much emotion and desperation. Considering how long it took a nearly illiterate Altaïr to write it... and how much he poured into it. *tugs your heartstrings*

We all know what happens on the missions... especially if we have played the game through. So they are nothing new. But in the game, you never know what is really going on in between. Missions never happen in reality in the few hours spent in game time making them happen. In reality, a mission likely takes weeks or months to plan out and execute. I want to be realistic.

Now and then, the mood needs lightening. I can still see Malik daydreaming amusedly of Altaïr running naked through the streets of Jerusalem. *heeheehee*

**Chapter 19: ****Altaïr Teen Kiss**

Yaoi Yaoi Yaoi... I warned folks!

Boys exploring their sexuality can be so adorable. And these boys are really so adorable. It has colored the way they both look at love and sex forever after. So has other things which you will all learn about in later flashbacks.

**Chapter 20: Malik: a boy's mission**

As promised, I brought back the little novice. Little assassins must start somewhere!

**Chapter 21: ****Altaïr Thrown Out**

Malik has a swift temple. As much as he berates Altaïr for not thinking, he is as much guilty of it himself. His caustic tongue does far more damage than any blade.

This story is all about taking three steps forward and one or two back. Even though our boys do things to each other that make them fall apart all over again, they are actually getting a little closer each time.

**Chapter 22: Malik Searches**

And here we discover about Altaïr's second woman and second child. More on that... later... If you thought Malik was venomous... wait till you meet her! Yes... you will... muwahahahaha!


	24. Chapter 24: Malik Finds Altair

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Thanks for reviewing! It keeps me writing!

* * *

Altaïr dragged himself upright again. Lurching he managed to get into an alley. He was not far now. He tried not to lean on the bloody side. No good if he leaves a blood trail. _Malik... Malik... I need you..._

There was officially no news from Altaïr all day. Malik paced distracted. He was barely civil when customers came in to purchase some scribed scrolls from him. By late afternoon, he hung a damp scarf to dry in the outdoor garden. It took only an hour for one of his informants to recognize the call and to come visiting. He left with a small prayer written on parchment that he tucked in a pocket.

He unfortunately had no grand news either, other than spotting Altaïr on a roof near the quarry. That was exactly the news Malik wanted though. It reassured him the Altaïr did not do something stupid or juvenile while sulking. Altaïr was apparently doing exactly what he should, gathering information to make a good kill later.

Malik had hoped that things between him and Altaïr had calmed by then and Altaïr would come in that night to share what he had found. Malik even made sure there was spiced rice and fried strips of meat the way Altaïr likes them. Though, he has known Altaïr to eat just about anything put in front of him, except maybe bananas. Malik wasn't quite sure why he was catering at the moment to Altaïr's preferences. It isn't like Altaïr was going to stay or anything. With a small grumble he wiped that old dream aside as totally false fiction long since destroyed.

He would have been finished the map of Acre if he were not so constantly thinking about Altaïr. "And even when you are NOT here, you vex me! Where the hell are you?" He checked his map again, made a few more touches to it, and then moved another black pawn on the chessboard. Midnight slipped by silently. Malik dozed on and off till he gave up with a stomach full of knots, and not just for Altaïr. None of the assassins had checked in for now several days, Altaïr being the last (unless you counted the ten year old novice). He double checked his log book to confirm who was out on what missions.

This would be another night out on the roof. The sun rose to see him sitting on the edge of the rooftop. He fiddled with a white fluff feather he was thinking of using as a quill, just to give his idle hand something to do other than pick at threads on his robe. He watched the rooftops for any sign of movement. The sky pales into hues of pinks and mauve as the sun peaked over the horizon. The cool breeze was welcome, even if it stole his feather and made his empty sleeve flutter.

He had a map to deliver, two scripted building deeds to drop off with a noble, and a journal yet to find for Altaïr. He gave up for the moment. Altaïr was a grown man, not a child to be worrying over like the little novice. Malik berated himself for behaving like a mother hen. Inside he made and swiftly swallowed some black coffee to kick start the day that was already exhausting.

He delivered a smaller map to someone, then informed the merchant that his Acre map would take another day. He passed the noble's house and delivered his deeds. His last stop that morning was the market to find a journal for Altaïr. It had to be something not very large, no larger than five inches by seven inches. That he could easily hide if necessary, also, he can fit it in his pocket now to carry back to the Bureau. He found a light tanned, almost white camel skin covered book. It was very soft to the touch having been well cured and brushed to a near silky velvety feel. Malik stroked it thinking how Altaïr would like to do the same and for that would be more likely to use it. The front was very plain, but Malik was sure he was skilled enough to carefully stain it would the crest of the Assassins. He already pictured a quill of an eagle feather that he wanted to slip between the pages.

If only Altaïr would show up. He had to at some point to get the feather for his mission.

On his way back to the Bureau, movement in a dark and shadowy alley fluttered at the corner of his eye. He thought it was wings, huge feathered wings, one white and one charcoal black. He turned his head to double take the sight, but it was just a trick of the eyes. Nothing was there. Nothing but a drunkard on the ground in the corner by a ladder. Nothing but a crumpled waste of human life, whose gourde of alcohol was already leaking into the cobblestones. Nothing but a drunkard... missing the third finger on an outstretched hand. Malik's spine snapped rigid.

_By Allah, who the hell of OUR assassins would be so stupid as to get drunk on mission._

Malik strode over, ready to give the assassin quite the piece of his temper. He leaned down and ripped the tattered smelly brown cloak off. "Altaïr!" It could be no other by the markings on the robe. But the back harness was gone, as was the sword and all belt pouches, even the wrist dagger.

As Malik was opening his mouth to snarl acidic things, Altaïr turned his head and pushed himself up clumsily, drunkenly. "Malik?" The deep stain of red down the robes and on the ground and the prompt vomit of blood that escaped Altaïr as he tried to get up made Malik swallow anything he was about to snap out. Altaïr had called his name, almost pleadingly. He was bleeding, inside, maybe for a long while. The stench of alcohol off him, off his breath as Malik hauled him to his feet told him of how drunk Altaïr actually was, how thin his blood must be.

He cursed under his breath at how Altaïr dragged. Altaïr clutched the front of Malik's robes with his other hand to try to stay on his feet and not be dragged. The world kept lurching, kept blurring. Malik could tell by how Altaïr moved. He pushed the assassin up against a wall so he could look around the corner. There were guards approaching. He resumed the position of hauling Altaïr and turned down another road with him. All the way to the covered garden outside the Bureau, Malik chastised him.

"Stupid novice! What in Allah were you thinking? To do such a novice dumb thing!"

It was a relentless string of curses along those lines till Altaïr croaked out Malik's name almost pleadingly. Malik paused before turning the corner into the covered garden. "We are almost there Brother. Just a few more feet."

He pulled Altaïr back onto his shoulder and rounded the corner to dump Altaïr onto a bench, but it was occupied. Malik froze a moment till it fully registered. Tan and grey uniform, green scarf, bright smile. The novice's eyes grew saucer wide at the sight. Malik thanked whatever was out there for this small blessing of extra hands. He ordered the boy to take his key from his pocket and unlock the door immediately.

The boy hopped off the bench and stuffed his small hands into Malik's pockets seeking the key. Then discovering he could not reach the lock, stood on the bench and leaned. That worked. He pushes the door open and Malik half dragged Altaïr inside. The boy closed the door and tried to push the supply trunk over so he could lock it again from the inside. It was too heavy. He tipped the chessboard table to dump the pieces to the floor and dragged it to the door to stand on. Once locked, he darted around Malik and opening the wooden gate, then the curtain into the back.

Malik nearly dropped Altaïr once inside the safety of the private room. "You are as heavy as English Oak," complained Malik. He laid Altaïr on a blanket and checked his erratic pulse. "Altaïr," he called. "Altaïr... stay with me. Altaïr..."

* * *

A/N #2 – ART! YAY!

Malik on the roof by MYOart on Devient Art (remove the spaces)

http:// miyoart .deviantart .com/art/On-a-rooftop-in-Jerusalem-157869653?q=gallery%3AMIYOart%2F6991150&qo=21

Malik dragging wounded Altaïr by Mospineq (remove the spaces)

http:// mospineq .deviantart .com/art/AC-145571035?q=gallery%3AMospineq%2F20319283&qo=14


	25. Chapter 25: Altair's Delerium

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Delerium reveals deep dark truths. But nothing is true... and everything is permitted. Do you believe the delirium? Or not?

* * *

Malik nearly dropped Altaïr once inside the safety of the private room. "You are as heavy as English Oak," complained Malik. He laid Altaïr on a blanket and checked his erratic pulse. "Altaïr," he called. "Altaïr... stay with me. Altaïr..."

"NNnnnhhnnn..." Altaïr groaned softly. His eyes fluttered open and he began to pant. It was hot, so very hot. His stomach burned like he swallowed hot coals. His hands fumbled to try to get his hood off. Shadows moved around him, speaking in garbled languages. He could taste blood, and whatever he drank the night before. His stomach heaved at the memory.

Something potently mint touched his tongue and the heaving eased, but the pain shot through his gut. He gritted his teeth against it. Then he shoved the pain aside as he had learned. His fingers could not manage to obey him. They were shaking of their own accord. He cursed.

"What did that mean, rafiq?" asked a small voice that was high and young and sharp.

Malik's liquid accent rolled into Altaïr's awareness. "It was German for a sexual demand of obedience out of his fingers." Trust Malik to be frank and translate almost directly what a small boy should not know yet, but then, the boy was going to be an assassin and lived in a world with Templars and soldiers from all over the world. He'd likely hear worse. Altaïr wished his vision were not so blurry to see the confusion that must be (and was) clearly painted on the boy's face. "Novice, get all the basins filled with water and bring them in here."

Altaïr's teeth started to chatter and his body shake. He stuttered out Malik's name. "Altaïr, stay down, you've been stabbed. I'll mend it, but you must be still. Relax as much as you can." Malik had said more but the words faded as the darkness grew.

He vaguely heard Malik yell for the novice to return. In short order they were stripping Altaïr down. The room snapped sharply into focus, though fuzzy on the edges as instinctual survival kicked in. His arms were pinned above his head and ye yelled and struggles. Malik threw his whole body down onto Altaïr to hold him down till he calmed and realized that it was not templars that had him. Except for the chilling terror of the words, "MASTER! NO! No! PLEASE NOOOOoo! ... .. ... no... no... please.... i'll be quiet... i'll be still..." And he was.

Any noises after that were kept behind Altaïr's clenched teeth. Sweat soaked his body mixing with the blood and vomit and alcohol.

Small hands started washing his body with a cloth under soft words of direction. Malik laid out the medical supplies he was not completely relieved to have from Tibah, and completely and shamefully indebted to her for.

Altaïr felt fabric in his hands and clutched it. His eyes glued to the ceiling. Blankets were wrapped around his legs and feet, warming them. He hissed now and then as Malik cleaned the wound. He fainted briefly when Malik pushed his fingers into the hole to feel around.

He endured is silence as Malik stitched with the boy's aid. The boy was having an impromptu lesson in healing. Altaïr recognized the tone. It was the same tone Faruq used when that man was teaching Malik while healing Altaïr from one wound or other. He flinched when the stitches were tugged together and grunted. He found himself panting again as the room flew from ice to fire. _This will pass. Pain passes. There is just the soul... and the fog..._

"Malik? Malik? Why... why are you in... in... the fog?" Altaïr's words were clumsy and stumbling.

"It is not fog, Altaïr. I put too much incense in my pot. That is all." It was a lie, Altaïr frowned know the slight shift in Malik's tone.

_Take a leap for me Altaïr..._

_The leap of faith is your trust in God or Allah or by whatever name you wish to call those that came before._

_Altaïr ... great eagle in flight ... son of none... spread your wings and fly... _

The room rushed back into Altaïr's vision with Malik yelling his name. With the sight of the private room came to hardness of the stone under the blankets, the uncomfortable wetness from the bathing water that soaked into those blankets, and the burning sting just under his left ribs. Nausea swelled in him again. And he was rolled to vomit into a basin.

He was hauled to his stumbling feet and moved into a soft thick bed. There he lay with his head turned squinting his eyes trying to make thing stay in focus. Malik and a small boy cleaned up the bloody wet blankets and medical supplies. Frequently Malik knelt in Altaïr full vision and presses a hand to his face. There was no strength left in Altaïr to move or even speak. Malik helped him sip some minty water. It helped his nausea.

When he opened his eyes again, the room was dark. The light scent of orris permeated in the room. Malik was sitting along, propped by cushions and reading. The boy was nowhere to be seen. That awareness lasted but a few second and was gone again.

* * *

A/N #2 – no art... *pout*


	26. Chapter 26: Malik Begins to See

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Those epiphanies you hoped to start seeing Malik have... they are here... little by little... the puzzle it taking form and Malik does not like what he sees.

* * *

When he opened his eyes again, the room was dark. The light scent of orris permeated in the room. Malik was sitting along, propped by cushions and reading. The boy was nowhere to be seen. That awareness lasted but a few second and was gone again.

Malik napped with his book on his lap. He could not sleep well, though. Altaïr would yell in his sleep and try to attack imagined enemies. Malik did manage a good few hours that helped revive him. He moved near Altaïr so as to easily check on him frequently. It was both a long day and now will be a long night. He still had no idea what happened to Altaïr, why he was drunk or how he managed to get stabbed.

Other questions boiled in him too. Old questions from old secrets that Altaïr had kept. Questions that made Malik doubt Master Al Mualim more. Doubts that only strengthened his resolve about hiding the boy novice. He was grateful for the boy's extra hands and inwardly lamented about not having an apprentice or novice of his own here as the other Dai did. The Dai had other rafiq's and novices to assist him. When he took the position he was so stubborn to prove he could still function he refused any. He has managed so well, though, that now none would be sent and he could not swallow his pride enough to ask for one.

It had taken the remainder of the morning and part of the afternoon to get Altaïr undressed, bathed, stitched and medicated. The rest of the afternoon and early evening was watching Altaïr for fever and other problems. That stab had nicked his stomach causing internal bleeding. There were a couple moments where he nearly panicked. As miraculous a healer as Altaïr can be, this was too close. Way too close. The alcohol in his system thinned his blood. He nearly bled to death before Malik even found him.

Then there was the moment Altaïr spoke of the fog. That scared Malik more than when Altaïr stopped breathing a moment. When Altaïr squirmed from a rebelling stomach, Malik put a drop of peppermint oil on his finger and stuffed his finger into Altaïr's mouth. He tried over and over to sooth the delirious terrors in Altaïr's sleep.

Now it was quiet. Had been quiet for several hours. He dozed. When the oil lamp was almost out of fuel he got up and added more. He sat and read his book a while. Altaïr turned his head and looked over. Malik's heart jumped with excitement to see him awake. But it had not lasted. He tried to get Altaïr to drink a little. He was so weak.

In the morning, Altaïr managed to mumble about what happened. How he had been trapped by guards, archers, and templars. How he used the novice's idea of disguise and stole what he could from a dead drunkard. How he vomited all over a guard who obviously took offence. Malik had to laugh at that. He saw a flicker of a grin on Altaïr's lips that vanished again as though he were not permitted the mirth. The early morning alertness was gone an hour later.

Malik stepped into the doctor role of a Dai, one he was better suited for than most Dai considering his mentorship under his brother Faruq. He recleaned the wound and checked it carefully. He dealt with any bodily wastes. He kept Altaïr warm when he was cold and cool when he fevered. Like a mother with a baby, Malik chewed food into a mush and watered it down into a soup so Altaïr could get nourishment one small spoonful at a time. He fingered through Altaïr's soft hair dampened by sweat. It was always a way to soothe him. "Stupid novice," he whispered in a far more affectionate tone.

He had listened to the novice earlier before he sent the boy home. The novice was thrilled to see his mission in the log and watched as the details were written in as he gave them. He went home with his eagle feather and informed that he helped save the life of the man who provides those eagle feathers. The boy asked if Altaïr was going to become the next Master of the Order. Malik chuckled a moment at the arrogance he could see in Altaïr at that, then struck the boy firm across the cheek. "Remember never to voice that thought ever again... or we will all be killed for it," he told the boy seriously. He hugged the boy almost immediately after to reassure him he was not angry, he just wanted to really drive home the importance of his words. The boy left both humbled and proud of the trust he had been given this day. Thinking back on it, he wished Altaïr had been more aware of what was happening around him, to see this incredible small boy with an indomitable spirit.

Two days and Altaïr had yet to really rouse. He would barely long enough to be taken to relieve himself, but that was about it. Malik knew that Altaïr's body was taking up most of his energy healing. Already the cuts in his hand were healed. And the lingering older wounds were healed into fine scars. The cut in the leg he had stitched a few days ago looked like the stitches could be taken out maybe in another few days. Malik wondered if anyone other than himself and his older brother knew of Altaïr's ability to heal like this.

Pondering this and many other things, Malik worked on finishing the map of Acre for Tibah's father. As he blew on the last marks to dry them and then tested them with a finger it hit him. Testing... THAT is exactly what Al Mualim has been doing to Altaïr. Testing him. Seeing how much he can take before he breaks. Except Altaïr never broke. Not really. It was always shy of killing him, but maybe that kind of testing began after Altaïr and Malik were separated. Malik remembered another novice from a few months ago mentioning how the Master had demoted Altaïr as a traitor in public and then stabbed him to death. And by the magic of the golden ball, brought him back to life to live out his punishment.

Malik bolted back into the private room and searched the sleeping body for another stab, a heart stab. It had to have left a scar. His fingers smoothed over Altaïr's check naming the types of wounds that could cause the scars they found. Then he paused over Altaïr's heart. There it was. But not quite a true hit. The scar was so close to the heart that you would think it was a fatal blow. With swift proper care, Malik would heal in a couple weeks just as he will heal from his stomach stab. With swift and proper care. Al Mualim could grant that in secret. And then hold a lie over everyone.

Malik jumped out of his skin when Altaïr's hand suddenly gripped his wrist. "Easy Brother. You are safe." Altaïr released his hold and drifted back into slumber.

* * *

A/N #2 – no art... *pout*


	27. Chapter 27: Altair: Wounded Eagles Bite

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – A little more cute novice for you all... and some grumpiness and realizations.

* * *

Malik jumped out of his skin when Altaïr's hand suddenly gripped his wrist. "Easy Brother. You are safe." Altaïr released his hold and drifted back into slumber.

He had been wounded before, gashed, stabbed. Altaïr was sure this was no different. In some ways it wasn't. He was sluggish in thought, unable to stay awake or coherent, wounded burned intermittently as they healed. What made this time different was that he did not smell of soiled clothing or hay. His belly was filled. His environment sometimes changed as he emptied himself. Something cool eased his fevers. Something warm eased the shakes. Someone gentle eased the horrors. The smells were a mix of soup, medicines, and incense, but also of books and sometimes cooking.

It made no sense. Sometimes Malik was there rebandaging him. More often than not, Altaïr woke to no one. Malik was a busy man. Altaïr found himself in Malik's bed, invading yet more of the man's privacy with his inconvenienced wounds. He could already hear in his mind the caustic retorts.

"Safety and peace, Novice," Altaïr heard Malik's voice in the background. "How fared your mission?"

The high voice of the small boy replied cheerily, "With great success, rafiq!"

Altaïr heard the usual thud of the log book and wondered what vexed Malik about the success of the boy's mission. The incongruity of Malik's light tone made him question his interpretation of the thudding of the book. Pages flipped to a point that must be blank. "Tell me the details and let me see the feather." Malik sounded pleased at the sight of the bloodied feather. Altaïr wondered who the boy killed... so young. And relaized that maybe the thudding of the book was not the sound of vexation, but simply the lack of grace with one hand holding a very large and heavy book.

The usual sound of waxed rice paper wrapping the feather could be heard. The boy bounced in place as he recited the details. "I followed the dog from its owner's home. He lets it roam free and cares nothing of what it does. I watched it dig holes in three people's gardens, chase a cat and turn over the kitchen trash of our neighbour. It almost bit a little girl who came out to add more trash. I did say it was a menace! I hid around a corner with a piece of steak, fresh cut. When it came around the corner, it was way bigger a dog than I thought! But I was not afraid. I had a mission. If I didn't finish then maybe he would bite the girl next door instead of just tear up the gardens. So I stood still. It was a good place on his route. No one was nearby. No one would see. When it jumped and bit the steak, I stabbed it. It was messier than I thought it would be. I had to stab him several times to quiet him." The boy scuffed a toe on the ground. "It wasn't a glorious kill. But I did complete my mission."

Malik's quill scratched all the details into the log. Altaïr half smiled at the boy's first kill, a dog. His own first kill was a goat. Altaïr then heard Malik's reassurance, "You did very well, Novice. It takes practice to make the kills swift and clean. Practice and skill. Here is a book on anatomy so you know where best to strike for a fast clean kill. I have noted the places. Study it and bring it back to me in two weeks.

Altaïr needed to move. He pulled himself up to sitting then to standing. Nature bade him be empty and he refused to do that in Malik's bed. The room spun as he recalled the feeling of blood loss and steadied himself with a hand on the wall. He could see the doorway through the opened shelf. Somehow, though he couldn't recall how, he knew he could go through there to relieve himself. His feet dragged as he forced himself to have some private dignity. To his amazement there was a whole room there. A small fountain that backed the broken one in the Bureau's souk. Now he understood why it was broken, the piping was shifted to this side. There was a kitchen area too. He had always wondered how Malik managed to store and cook food in the Bureau. Once relieved he rinsed his hand and sipped some water. _I need to get out of his way... I need to finish my mission..._

His knees buckled as he entered the sleeping room again and found himself caught in Malik's arm, "You stupid drunken novice! I am but one room away. I would have heard you whisper my name." Malik guided Altaïr back into the bed.

Altaïr muttered almost with slurred words, "You were busy. I... I need to go."

"Go? Have you lost your mind? Did that crass half-poison of alcohol pickle it? You can't even stand!" Malik's words were sharp and cut like little daggers into Altaïr's pride.

Altaïr protested, "I have a mission. I can't stay or I will miss my mark."

"I have to care for you. That stab was bad."

Altaïr knew it was Malik's duty. Just duty. "I'll be fine. I'm in your way and you don't want me here anyways!"

There was silence.

Altaïr tried to get back up, but Malik's hand on his chest kept him down. He lacked the strength to sit up so he rolled over instead, face to the wall and back to Malik. "I don't deserve your care."

He felt Malik's hand touch his shoulder and he flinched, untrusting. He heard Malik rise and leave, grumbling, "stupid novice... stupid blind novice..."

* * *

A/N #2 – no art... *pout*


	28. Chapter 28: Malik Remember the Push

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Oh Malik... *shakes head*

A/N #2 – Thanks for reviewing. I love to hear your thoughts on the story as those very thoughts help direct its course.

* * *

Altaïr snapped, "I'll be fine. I'm in your way and you don't want me here anyways!"

There was silence.

Altaïr tried to get back up, but Malik's hand on his chest kept him down. He lacked the strength to sit up so he rolled over instead, face to the wall and back to Malik. "I don't deserve your care."

Malik's hand touched his shoulder and he flinched, untrusting. Malik rose and left, grumbling, "stupid novice... stupid blind novice..."

His words were out of hurt. He was shocked and hurt by Altaïr's biting comments. Malik had to step out. Altaïr shut him out. It hurt. It hurt to be shut out yet again by Altaïr, to be in the position of not being trusted. It had been in all of Altaïr's reactions from the first time he arrived in Jerusalem to hunt the Regent. The arrogance was less and the wariness was greater.

_I suppose I have not helped that..._

He realized only now how his words had been taken so literally by Altaïr. When they were younger, this was never the case. Malik might have gotten angry and verbally lashed out, but Altaïr knew then never to take it to heart... and arrogantly never did. Altaïr had this knack on patting Malik's cheek with a wry little grin and totally diffusing the anger. Now... now Altaïr practically flinched and shied or outright fled. _What have I done? What have I become while here in Jerusalem? He is practically acting around me as he... dear Allah... like he behaves around Al Mualim. Is that what I have become? What cruelties has Al Mualim done to instil this in Altaïr? How long has it been going on?_ He then remembered how Altaïr had gotten his scar on his lip. _Long... it has been going on long..._

Malik paced the main room of the Bureau, his hand on his head in stunned realization. But why? Altaïr had so many secrets, has been lying all this time to Malik about AL Mualim. Then again, if roles were reversed, Malik realized he would likely do the same. A memory flashed in his head and he had wished he had always remembered it.

_Malik and Altaïr had a spat that morning. Jealousy ate away at Malik. Al Mualim was going to be personally helping Altaïr in the wall climbing training. It was a public reminder who mentored Altaïr, the favourite of the Grand Master Assassin of the Order. Many were jealous. Altaïr strutted and fought them all off often to prove he was the best. It sometimes strained their friendship. But then Altaïr would pat his cheek and grin, "See you at the top. Time me... I'll time you after and we'll see who can do it faster." Altaïr took nothing seriously. Malik wished he would. This was a dangerous test. There was no hay to soften the fall off the wall this time. _

_Malik only half listened to his brother Faruq's advice and instruction as he watched Altaïr climb. "Are you listening Malik? This is important. Stop worrying about them, Master Al Mualim will watch over him just I will watch over you." _

_Malik gasped when he looked over and breathed in shock, "He pushed him! Al Mualim pushed him off!"_

_Faruq turned his head in disbelief only to see Al Mualim clutching Altaïr wrist and pulling him up, effectively saving his live from a bad fall from the wall. Altaïr's sword clattered to the ground. His feet dangled and scrambled for purchase. Al Mualim pulled him to safety and congratulated him. "See? He just slipped. Al Mualim would never push someone off the wall, Malik. Especially not Altaïr."_

Now remembering, he had. Malik was sure of it. Testing Altaïr again and again pushing Altaïr's limits. He peaked in on Altaïr to see the assassin had put on some clothes and curled up facing the wall again. In this sense also showing how little he trusted Malik. Malik wanted to be angry. Malik was angry. But not sure who he was more angry at. He gave Altaïr space for now.

While he did so, Malik set the new journal on the counter and looked long at it. Then selected some inks and feathers with different tips and carried it all over to the work table. He spent the next couple hours focused on the journal. With the utmost care, he dyed the emblem of the Brotherhood into the pale cover. Then inside in his neatest script, he wrote the Creed. On the first page he had planned to write something commemorative, but found he could not invade the pages meant for Altaïr's thoughts. On the inside back cover, since he wrote the Creed inside the front cover, he wrote: _Some things are true... how I feel, our friendship... and some things should not be permitted... It s always a choice, a moral one. Let me help you when you no longer know the right one. Malik._

He heard some noise in the back room and closed the book. When he stepped inside the room, it was empty. The journal slipped from his hand to the floor. Altaïr was gone. He wasn't well enough to be gone. Malik took the stairs a few at a time hoping to beat Altaïr to the second floor, but clearly he was not. The hatch clicked shut. In his distress, Malik's hand was clumsy. The seconds were too many. He skidded out onto the roof of the Bureau. Altaïr was gone.

He rushed back in and grabbed a small dagger. He pondered stabbing Altaïr himself for this childish act... this arrogant better than the world act. He slammed the front door and locked it then dashed around the whole building hoping to find a stupid staggering Altaïr, but to no avail. He searched street by street till the sun set. His furious snarl at a thug actually made the thug back off. He returned to the Bureau practically pulling his hair out. "I should have drugged him!" He yelled his impotent frustration at the walls and kicked the chessboard that was recently reset for a new game. Pieces went flying... all the pieces save for the black bishop of course.

Altaïr was now out there somewhere, barely well enough to be standing.

* * *

A/N #3 – Memory inspired by Doubleleaf from Deviant Art (remove spaces for link)

http:/ doubleleaf .deviantart .com/art/training-novice-145648812


	29. Chapter 29: Altair Guilty

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – the guilt... oh the guilt...

* * *

Altaïr was now out there somewhere, barely well enough to be standing.

He had taken dressing and armouring in small stages while Malik was doing whatever he was doing in the main room of the Bureau. When he had relieved himself in the hidden room, he noted the stairs and planned to leave. That would be his way out without having to confront Malik again. Altaïr understood that he was on a deadline. The hanging might be very very soon, or worse today. In his flight he had to stop and drink. He turned down an alley to the basket where he stuffed his weaponry in case he got picked up by the guards. He didn't want to lead them in any way to the Brotherhood.

With his weapons in place, he sat on a bench to rest. He pick-pocketed some coin and bought some food to slowly nibble on his way to the quarry. What he overheard along the way reassured him that he was not too late. That was fine. He really was not up for a fight or a successful assassination. It bothered him more than he expected to be impaired like this. It was humbling in how humiliating it was. No wonder Malik was so bitter all the time. Altaïr just wished Malik would stop being bitter with him... just a little. He also wished he knew Malik's thoughts on that note he wrote him. He knew Malik read it, but Malik said nothing of it as if it meant absolutely nothing. _Maybe that is how it is. I am nothing. I am nothing but the Eagle of Masyaf. The assassin pawn of my Master. What will happen when I have taken these nine lives? Will mine be my own?_ He doubted it.

He found a bench just outside the quarry to sit upon. One of Malik's informants passed him without noticing. Altaïr stood and silently followed him. The informant sensed he was being followed. Altaïr wasn't trying to be discreet, not that he really could have at this point but the informant didn't have to know. "What news have you of the hanging?" Altaïr asked bluntly when the informant turned around.

"Altaïr. I..." he frowned, his eyes following Altaïr's arm to the hand that clutched at the painful stab wound. The informant changed his choice of words, abandoning the request he was going to ask. "The hanging it in five days. They captured a new prisoner they want to use as an example and warning, but I do not yet know who."

"Thank you. I will find out who." Altaïr turned and blended in among some monks that walked by. The sunset made it now impossible to track him among the group of monks.

Altaïr meandered slowly through the district till he found a ladder and climbed till he found a roof souk to sleep in. It took him another couple days to get to the prison. He relaxed every chance he got and ate and drank often. He even dozed on a bench till he got kicked from it like a drunkard by the guards. This is how he handles any bad wounds on the road. Eat, drink, rest, and keep moving. To lie too long is to give up and die. He was a survivor if nothing else. When he reached the prison, the worst of the pain was gone from his stomach. He was far from healed and would to be careful, but he'd manage better now. Now he could ignore any twinges. Now he could climb and fight. He'd pay for it later for sure, but at least he was well enough to be capable. Altaïr was sure Malik would disagree and likely would have drugged him with a sedative deceitfully.

Altaïr spat on the ground to get the taste of that thought of betrayal out of him mouth. He could do this mission. It was HIS mission. He was the very BEST of Masyaf, or the Master would have assigned someone else for sure. That was sobering. Maybe there is no one good enough. These were by far the most dangerous missions he had ever done or even heard of. Altaïr locked that thought away to add to the many he wanted to address with the Master. But what if the Master was right? Or what if Altaïr was not strong enough to stand his ground against him? It was a terrible feeling to be alone. Altaïr wondered for a moment how Malik felt, if Malik felt alone. Not likely, he had the whole Brotherhood to rely on and many who pass through his Bureau. Malik was never alone. Or so Altaïr thought.

Sitting on a bench near some gossiping guards thinking how their superior would kill them for nattering like women at laundry, Altaïr listened. If he was their superior, he would kill them.

"We dragged one in a few days ago. They say he's an assassin."

"If he was an assassin, then his captors would be dead and he would be free."

"They laid a trap. Like they did before. We missed him the first time, but not this time."

"So it was Templars then that brought him in?"

"Yes, he was wearing whites and greys like the monks and scholars."

"Tseh! Who's to say he isn't one and they made a mistake?"

"No mistake. He was protecting the younger one with the grey hood that was used as bait. That one died, but this one, is ours. He took down two Templars and five guards before the Templars overtook him. Like a bald slave fighting in the Greek games for his life, what are they called?"

"I don't know, who cares. We have him and he'll hang with the rest. The Regent will be pleased."

Altaïr stayed still on the bench while his mind run circles. The trap was for him. They think they have him. And the poor assassin will hang for him. And the poor novice died for him. Altaïr wanted to vomit again. He got up and moved away swiftly to avoid being seen when he did. He had three days to get to the Bureau, get a feather and end the Regent and save the Brotherhood member.

He had to rest on the way, catch some sleep. But the very next day, his feet walked across the emblem beautifully inlaid in the roof of the Bureau. He rubbed his side, it was tolerable. It would still be days till it was actually healed, but he didn't have days. The hanging was tomorrow. Resolved, he dropped lightly into the souk and walked to the door. His feet always halted him there, digging in for the barrage of dagger-like words from Malik. It didn't come... Altaïr was sure it would though.

* * *

A/N #3 – alas no art.


	30. Chapter 30: Malik: Leap of Faith

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – An almost Yaoi warning...

* * *

Altaïr's feet walked across the emblem beautifully inlaid in the roof of the Bureau. He rubbed his side, the stomach wound was tolerable. It would still be days till it was actually healed, but he didn't have days. The hanging was tomorrow. Resolved, he dropped lightly into the souk and walked to the door. His feet always halted him there, digging in for the barrage of dagger-like words from Malik. It didn't come... Altaïr was sure it would though.

Malik heard from one of his informants that Altaïr was alive and mostly well looking. The informant had seen Altaïr scouting the quarry and that he would find out who the new prisoner spectacle was to be. Malik was relieved he was not dead, bleeding, or caught. It didn't mean Malik was not completely and utterly furious with him, however.

Malik lifted his head from the maps of the poor and middle districts where he noted locations and logged them in the large log book. Altaïr stood hesitantly in the doorway. "Don't just stand there, tell me what you found out." It took all his effort to hold a half civil tongue when he saw Altaïr.

"One of our novices is dead. Used as bait to try to capture an assassin." Altaïr's voice was tense and heavy, making it sound deeper and rougher than usual.

Malik whispered a prayer and flipped a page to make a note of the death. "Anything else?"

Altaïr walked in slowly to just a couple feet from the counter, almost braced for Malik's anger. "Another of our assassins was caught in that trap with the bait. A bald one... He fought hard and well, they thought he was me." Malik knew now that heaviness in the voice to be guilt. "The hanging is tomorrow."

Malik was madly scribbling down details and notes for later.

"I know what I have to do. I'll claim his life while he gloats to the crowd." The arrogance slid into Altaïr's voice.

"Do you have a plan? Know the area? Found an escape?" Malik just wanted to be sure. Altaïr was still not hurt, he wanted to know for sure if this was going to work.

"I am a master assassin," snapped Altaïr. "Not a novice. I said I know what I am doing!"

"You are a novice to me. You don't have a plan, clearly. You never really do. This is why you will ALWAYS be a novice in my eyes, Altaïr!" Malik's anger was slipping... slipped. "You are still wounded!"

"There is no one else and it is MY mission and MY fault!" They had reached the point now of shouting at each other. Altaïr had taken a couple steps forward as he yelled. "I am a killer! Give me the damned feather and let me do what I was made to do!"

They glared at each other across the counter for several long seconds.

Malik reached under the counter and lifted a feather from the box. He watches Altaïr follow the feather's movement. Malik slammed it onto the table with a snarl and retracted his hand. Altaïr slammed his hand upon the feather, crushing the edges in a fist. Malik's hand shot out and trapped Altaïr's to the counter.

They glared hellfire and daggers at each other more across that counter. Malik wished he had a second hand to push Altaïr's hood back to see the fire in his eyes and not just the shadows.

Altaïr must have been calculating the distances and pressures to throw Malik back without harming him. That kind of thinking through anger made thinking slower for Altaïr.

Malik was used to thinking fast while angry. He was calculating the speed and distance to move his hand into Altaïr's hood to hook it behind his neck, ideally before Altaïr could pull away.

The second were no more than a few furious heartbeats.

Malik took a leap of faith and moved.

He leaned a little, hand darting into Altaïr's hood and behind his neck pulling him forwards over the counter a bit. The hood fell back to reveal golden eyes filled with anger, frustration, betrayal, confusion. The confusion was growing to outweigh the other emotions though. Malik silently reveled in his little victory. He leaned further forward till his brow touched Altaïr's. Tense hot breaths passed between them. Malik was momentarily not sure why he did this and what he was going to do next.

He closed his eyes, still holding Altaïr in a fierce grip. "I know you are the only one who must, who can do this. I know you will abandon the Creed if you have to. I beg you to please try not to. I know you have been trying, but this will be ugly and public. There is neither hiding nor being invisible. You will likely end up revealing yourself and thus our Brotherhood. Just try to stay your blade from innocents. Just that, forget the rest. Forget even those who will be hanged."

"No... no..."

"Yes. Forget them Altaïr. I will arrange for people to free them after the Regent is dead. Just be sure to kill him before they are hung." Malik relaxed his grip as he had felt Altaïr was not struggling to escape it. Malik opened his eyes to see that Altaïr had closed his. He curled his fingers in Altaïr's hair at the nape of his neck. "May your blade be swift. And... Altaïr... Please... Be careful. Come back to me." He whispered this just barely.

"With a bloody feather," Altaïr replied at almost a whisper to match Malik's. Malik released Altaïr who stepped back from the counter, tucking the feather into a belt pouch. "I'll try to be careful." When he reached the doorway of the souk he looked back and Malik over his shoulder. Malik could swear he saw the hint of a grin on his lips. "I promise nothing about city alarm bells though." The hood was tugged up and Altaïr took flight out the souk before Malik could yell at him again.

* * *

A/N #3 – alas no art. I was sure there was, but most of the art shows them kissing across the counter. I am saving that for later.


	31. Chapter 31: Altair Prepares

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Thanks so very much for the reviews! Huzzah! And I have a name for the little novice (Junayd) I hope you all like it. When he appears next in a few chapters, I will use it.

* * *

When Altaïr reached the doorway of the souk he looked back and Malik over his shoulder. The hint of a grin ghosted on his lips. "I promise nothing about city alarm bells though." The hood was tugged up and Altaïr took flight out the souk before Malik could yell at him again.

Altaïr found a roof spot near the quarry by evening and hid in a roof souk. There he nibbles food he pilfered and did some stretching to help his muscles remember how to behave despite his injury, also to test the limits of that injury.

At dawn, he watched through the curtain as people set up for the hanging. He counted the guards, he noted the commoners. There were few of both. He almost cheered seeing a group of priests there to give the prisoners last rites. That was his way in. Maybe he could slip right up behind the Regent in front of everyone without notice after all! He watched the archers start to take position on the roofs. They will have to go. He piled his extra throwing knives under a cushion in this little souk to collect on his way back here and rolled out of the souk to creep over and start eliminating archers. He took his time and used his wrist dagger as often as he could or threw a knife only when he was sure the archer would not fall off the roof. He had to retrieve the extra throwing knives and continue. By lunch, he made his way to each dead archer and propped him up creatively so onlookers from the streets below would never think they were dead.

He grinned at his brilliance and wished Malik were here to see this. A fleeting look below at the growing crowds showed him no Malik. He hoped Malik was fast enough to get people in place to free the prisoners, because the number of guards below was also growing. Altaïr would have his hands full.

He tried very hard not to think too much about what transpired between him and Malik last. It was wonderful and confusing and ... Altaïr shook his head to clear it. He did NOT need this distraction. Not now. It wasn't trust between them, not friendship, but something. The feel of Malik's fingers in his hair at his neck sent another tingle down his spike and he quickly swallowed down some water to ease the heat of the noon sun.

The guards came with the regent and their prisoners in tow. By the number, Altaïr had figured correctly. This was meant as a trap for him. One of his was now bait to lure him in. There really were too many of them. This was almost suicide. The only way this could be worse is if there were Templars... or worse... this was happening in the middle of a dock full of boats. Altaïr shuddered and glanced around by instinct to be sure there was no water. It was foolish, but weren't all phobias?

There was a low climbable wall. Without the heavy armour of the guards, Altaïr could climb it for his escape and at least gain some distance. The guards would have to squeeze through the one opening in the wall. He laid flat on his belly with a small wince and peered over the edge of the building to get a good look at the routes and the crowns outside the wall. Then he spotted that father who was intent on killing the regent himself. Suicide. Altaïr shook his head. He had to commend the man for his bravery, but there would be no way he would live.

Altaïr slunk down to the ground and wove through the crowd till he was through the walls and almost in place. The Regent began preaching his glories of the Law to the people.

* * *

A/N #3 – alas no art


	32. Chapter 32: Malik Prepares

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Sorry for the short chapters. They need to be short if I want to keep the alternating viewpoints.

* * *

Altaïr slunk down to the ground and wove through the crowd till he was through the walls and almost in place. The Regent began preaching his glories of the Law to the people.

Malik recited the Creed several times just to remind himself since he had just told Altaïr to practically abandon it. He wanted to yell back at Altaïr when the assassin left, but found he just could not. He had taken a leap of faith and it worked out. Altaïr was now off to prepare for his kill. Malik needed to be off to prepare on his end. If people were not in place as he promised, then the bald assassin will likely die. Altaïr would likely die.

He ran through the streets with maps and scrolls under his arm to a small house and pounded on the door. This was the home of an informant who was supposed to be off duty for the week. He winced trying to juggle the stuff under his arm and knocking on the door. He failed both miserably as the armload scattered and unrolled all across the ground. He looked like a fumbling scholar now scrambling after his scrolls.

The door opened and his informant looked surprised. "Rafiq?" The informant helped gather everything and invited him in. It was RARE, as in NEVER, that Malik had come to the house like this. The man's wife greeted him and offered to prepare some tea and breakfast. Once seated on cushions in the coolest part of the house, Malik and the informant poured over the map. Malik apologized a few times to the man, but this was urgent.

A little girl no more than four or five tiptoed in and without invitation sat in Malik's lap. There was startlement from the informant and his wife and Malik, then light chuckles all around. The informant apologized not to Malik who said he honestly did not mind. Though with a lap full of child, Malik was somewhat trapped, much to the informant amusement.

"You stay here and relax, rafiq. I will see that this mission is done." He did a last scan of the map and hurried out, kissing his wife as he left.

The little girl innocently explored Malik's empty sleeve. "Why don't you have an arm?"

"Because God took it from me," Malik replied gently.

She frowned a tiny frown of confusion. "But why would God do that? Doesn't he know you need two arms?"

"Sometimes God takes something important away so you can realize something much more important is there for you instead." It was the best he could come up with and ... it made him think suddenly of Altaïr. Something must have changed in his expression as the wife came to claim her daughter, handing her a cup full of grain. She apologized to Malik for her daughter's rudeness and he brushed it off.

The little girl ran with her cup of grain up to where she was told she could feed the pigeons in the coup. Her tiny feed thudding on the stairs in her excitement, squealing all the way up till the door opened and slammed shut startling the birds. The sound of terrified pigeons and of squealing and giggling girl emanated down the stairs as Malik prepared to leave.

"This... was an emergency, was it not? Will we have to return to Masyaf?" the concerned wife asked.

"No no," Malik reassured. "And I promise another full week off for his trouble.

"Good. We are very busy trying to accomplish god's work."

Malik blushed at having interfered in... uh... their task of god's work. "I wish you the very best of luck with your efforts. You husband will be back in a few days."

He hurried back to the Bureau to prepare now for the onslaught of trouble. He kept the door locked with a sign out that he was indisposed for the week. He cleaned the whole Bureau anticipating having to heal many people. And set out what he would need for that. He updated his log book and paced the Bureau MANY times. All he could do now was wait. This was the part he hated most. The waiting.

* * *

A/N #3 – alas no art


	33. Chapter 33: Altair: Killer

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Sorry, we all played it, we all did it, I had to write it for the sake of smooth continuity.

* * *

All Malik could do now was wait. This was the part he hated most. The waiting.

Altaïr waited, too. He listened to the Regent expounding at length and Law and Order, about Obedience and the Folly of Chaos. Altaïr wondered if the Regent was a Christian priest once considering the way he preached at length. As he took a careful few steps through the crowd to the group of priest, he heard the shout of protest from that father demanding the release of his innocent son.

Altaïr turned his head long enough to see the man skewered by the nearest guard. The Regent used this as a perfect example of the chaos when people abandon the Law. Altaïr whispered prayers of thanks as he joined the write robed priests, and joined his voice to their prayers of lament in Latin. They faltered a little not expecting him to be so educated. He stifled the smirk that wanted to claim his usually stoic expression.

The group of priests moved through the crowd, being given space to pass. The Regent was still preaching and boasting loudly. Altaïr wondered how the man accomplished anything between his speeches. He side glanced the line of guards he passed on his way to the stairs onto the platform to pray last rites for those to be hung. He was half way there. The maddened gurgled snarl of insanity was heard too late. The crazy person shoved him and another monk roughly into the guards and wondered to babble gibberish then snarl and shove someone else.

The guard Altaïr toppled into became all too aware of Altaïr and the weapons he wore. He let out a cry that was cut short by Altaïr's wrist blade. The fight was NOW! Altaïr killed as many guards as he could and ran through the screaming frantic crowd with the Regent close at his heels. _Plan B... lead the target to a secluded area and then kill him._ He managed to escape the compound hacking and slashing almost randomly with a small apology to Malik when his blade caught a bystander in an effort to get them out of the way. Altaïr was amazed the Regent wanted him so badly as to chase him. _Was he insane? Was his bloodlust so strong? He has left his guards behind!_ Altaïr skidded around a corner readying to turn and face the Regent for a final blow.

Fifty guards drew their swords. He nearly impaled himself on them. Altaïr sucked in a sharp and momentarily painful breath. There was no time for pain and shoved it instantly aside. Now was the time for survival and taking down the target. Even survival became secondary. He wheeled to face the Regent who was joined by his fifty guards from the quarry. Altaïr locked the image of the man's face in his mind. He would reach him, kill him, if it was the last thing he did with his last breath.

The now empty quarry left the informants who had snuck in with a very easy duty of freeing the prisoners without any trouble. They were immeasurably grateful for how Altaïr handled this to keep them safe by luring the danger away as he did. The off-duty informant stood on a roof with the bald assassin overlooking the scene farther off.

All around Altaïr the colors shimmered. The few running innocent people shone white. Those who would aid him shone blue. Outnumbering them in the hundred or more shone bodies of red. Altaïr saw red... only red. Then a bright yellow flickered through the red, his target.

Altaïr was a blur of white and red and silvery steel in the center of a sea of guards, soldiers and even templars. The regent fell to Altaïr's blade and they let up a cheer that thankfully was not heard over the dim of the fight. There was a pregnant pause in the battle as the Regent went down and the city alarm bells tolled.

As his blade felled the Regent, Altaïr sensed it, time stopped. Each heartbeat slowed to nothing and the fog came to separate him and his target from the world. He had hoped it would not come. The dying always had cryptic words that made him re-evaluate and doubt what he was doing. This seemed like it would be no different. Altaïr tried to bring what peace he could to the dying man, "Your work here is done."

But the Regent, Madj Addin, Was not willing to go so peacefully. "No. NO! It had only just begun!"

"Tell me, what's part in all this? Do you intend to defend yourself as others have and explain away your evil deeds?" Altaïr felt compelled to demand answers.

"The Brotherhood wanted the city. I wanted power. There was... an _opportunity_." The Regent shrugged nonchalantly.

Altaïr was halted in his thoughts a moment, _the brotherhood does not want to own the city. They have Masyaf._ He decided the Regent mist be wrong in that. "An opportunity to murder innocents."

Quick and abrupt, the Regent replied fervently, "Not so innocent... dissident voices cut deep as steel. They disrupt order. In this, I do agree with the Brotherhood.

"You'd kill people simply for believing differently than you?" Altaïr found this incredulous.

The Regent grinned at him through the fog, a chilling cold grin. "Of course not! I killed them because I could... because it was fun! Do you know what it _feels_ like to determine another man's fate? And did you see the way the people _cheered_... the way they _feared_ me? I was like a _god_! You'd have done the same if you could. Such... _power_!"

Altaïr did not agree, did not think he would in the Regent's place, not now. "Once perhaps, but then I learned what becomes of those who lift themselves above others." Guilt made him swallow hard for Malik's losses, then set his jaw tightly. This man was truly mad, insane with power. _Absolute power corrupts absolutely._

"And what is that?" asked the Regent venomously.

Cold and serious came Altaïr's answer, "Here... let me _show_ you". He then stabbed Majd Addin in the neck. This target... this one was worthy of the assassination. He forsake humanity and in doing so forsake his life. Altaïr had no remorse. Not that he ever really did. The fog faded and the colors of the world flooded back with blood.

Then there was a rush like an uproar. Altaïr was swarmed. A shout went up with a guard pointing at the roof watchers who fled immediately, unable to stay to see the outcome but expecting it would end soon.

Altaïr no longer felt the pain at all from a hit, no longer even bothered to dodge them. His world narrowed to the random faces and the blood and the need to kill. Some of the soldiers ran for fear of him, screaming "DEMON!" Every stamp of a foot in near inch deep blood splashed with it. Altaïr cut a path. Then he ran till the hazy blurriness cleared and he had to turn again to fight. It was endless through the night.

* * *

A/N #2 – alas no art


	34. Chapter 34: Malik: No Altair

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – *tugs the heart strings... HARD!*

* * *

Then there was a rush like an uproar. Altaïr was swarmed. A shout went up with a guard pointing at the roof watchers who fled immediately, unable to stay to see the outcome but expecting it would end soon.

DING DING DING DING...

The city alarm rang out incessantly. Malik rolled his eyes and murmured Altaïr's name. Of course they bells would toll, Altaïr was hunting... probably messily. Malik prepared soft foods knowing Altaïr really shouldn't be eating anything solid and if the others returned wounded, soft is just easier. He even made mint chilled tea, and sliced fruit. He filled the basins with water for washing wounds and dragged the large bathing tub from the private back room into the front. The many large rolls of maps in it got tossed into a corner. He looked up through the roof access as he filled basin after basin to fill the tub. He won't likely get Altaïr into the tub, but the others may want or need a bath, especially the assassin who was about to be hung. Who know what his state was. That necessitated a double check of medicines and bandages. Maybe a triple check, because he had little else to do and the dinging and waiting were agitating him.

By evening, two informants and the bald assassin dropped in. One informant with an arrow in his leg was lowered down by the other informant. Thankfully the bald assassin was not bad off and could help. All took turns bathing and being checked by Malik. He stitched, salved and bandaged. He made the bald assassin swallow medicine to counter whatever gross illnesses and infections might get contracted from the prison he was in.

"I used my feather to kill the head of the prison guards. I watched him torture someone and when he came to take me... he got a nasty surprise," announced the assassin. Malik logged it and tied it back to the notes he took from Altaïr's information about the man and tied that in turn to a note to hire an assassin to deal with it. It was a little bit of data fudging, but in the end it worked out. The feather was accepted for the kill and the kill was logged with the details. "I'll need another feather for my other target. Do you have news of him?"

Malik denied him the feather. "I'm sorry brother, he has departed for Damascus. I'll send word to the Dai there to expect you."

As food was shared out Malik asked about Altaïr cautiously. None of the informants seemed to bear ill to him and the bald assassin really could not care one way or the other. Though they all agreed that what Altaïr did earlier today was godlike and suicidal. "We saw him kill the Regent. But, I doubt he made it out of that mess alive. There were near one hundred guards and soldiers and templars and more around other corners on their way and archers on the roofs replacing the ones he had killed," explained one informant.

The other informant spoke in awe, "He drifted in with the priests. If the insane man had not pushed them into the platform guards, I think he would have made a clean kill and get-away. Having been exposed, though, he lured the entire and I really mean the ENTIRE guard from the platform."

The visitors to the Bureau murmured prayers of lament. Malik snapped at them to not wish Altaïr dead. "He is NOT dead yet. The bells are still ringing. That means they are still searching for him." He was well into the irritable Malik they were used to, maybe a little more irritable than they were used to.

All the guests slept over in the Bureau till morning. The informants left one at a time cautiously, one out the roof access, and one out the second floor hatch. The bald assassin was too conspicuous, especially with the alarm still going. Malik prayed he would hear it ring till Altaïr returned. The bald assassin chose to make his way out of the city that next night when the bells stopped ringing. Malik convinced him to sleep first. He was easier to advise than Altaïr. He actually listened. He stayed just till dawn and slipped out while Guards and everyone else was too tired.

Malik's heart sank and he wished that maybe other things were exchanged between he and Altaïr before the mission. Malik started the slow process of cleaning up. He found the journal he wanted to give to Altaïr and stroked it struggling with the lump in his throat... and failing. He sank onto the stool at the work table and wept as he had for Kadar. After several hours, he turned the pages of the black journal and started to add little drawings to every fifth or so page of the places he and Altaïr had enjoyed, just tiny drawings in one corner or another. He wrote Altaïr's name on the first page and decorated the letters. Then he closed the book and set it on the counter as a reminder, set it next to the incense pot that Kadar had bought him. His two reminders. Then retired to bed feeling even less of a man than before.

* * *

A/N #3 – alas no art


	35. Chapter 35: Altair: The Cat Came Back

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – I had a cat do this once. I hope no one ever experiences it.

* * *

Malik wrote Altaïr's name on the first page and decorated the letters. Then he closed the book and set it on the counter as a reminder, set it next to the incense pot that Kadar had bought him. His two reminders. Then retired to bed feeling even less of a man than before.

Altaïr roused dizzily in a roof souk. He had no idea where he was or how he got there. His robes were brown from the dried blood and stiff. He was dreaming, maybe remembering, a time when he was younger and Malik was healing him. How old were they? _Young, very young, Altaïr was ten and had been there only a few months. They sky was a faded pink of morning. Altaïr had been scraped up from late night training with his mentor. Malik had told him he knew magic and kissed each scrape before rubbing salve saying it will heal faster this way. It helped young Altaïr accept his unusually quick healing ability as he attributed it entirely to Malik, and sometimes still does._

So, if that was a dream or memory, and he was in a roof souk, why was everything dawn pink? Was it dawn? Altaïr blinked more to try to clear his vision. Still pink. The pink moved and he felt very stupid when he realized the veils on the souk were all shades of pink.

He lurched out of the souk and fell on the roof panting. The bells were all quiet. He wondered how many days he had been running in survival mode. He wondered how many people got killed. He tried not to think about if any were innocents simply in his way or holding food or... did he even eat? Nothing hurt and yet everything hurt. It was that dull pain shoved deep into the back of his mind to not be let go of till it was safe to. But it was never safe to. It was a numbing experience. He was aware that everything should hurt. Everything but his tongue. He was smart enough to keep that behind his closed teeth and not accidentally between them in the fighting. The numbness made him clumsy at first till he forced coordination into his limbs.

Like the cat that should be dead after being run over by the cart and drags itself home, Altaïr slowly inched toward the Bureau. Somewhere in the subconscious memory he just knew which way. He looked back a couple times to see if he was leaving a blood trail. If anyone chose to follow one, it was directionless all over the middle district and the poor district. Now the blood was mostly dry and he aimed for the rich district. It took him a couple days. He ate some food out of a roof garden. He threw it up later. Very little stayed in him. He just kept moving.

Late in the night, he dragged his feet across the roof of the Bureau. He sat on the cooling stones in the middle of the Brotherhood emblem and caught his breath. _Almost there... _Slowly and carefully he inched down over the fountain to the floor of the Bureau's large souk. The soft pillows and carpets beckoned him, but he needed to see Malik first. He needed to give over his bloody feather. The moonlight cast a pale hue into the main room, just barely. The incense pot held a soft glow from the coal, but the incense had been long burned away.

Altaïr's lip twitched into a weak half grin thinking about tipping it like he used to. He wasn't sure how well received that would be and he did not want to be yelled at, not now. He fumbled the spoon of ground incense into the pot to burn on the coal. Bits of powder fell about the counter. Then he notices the book. It was both stunning and simple. It held his eye a long time as he wanted to touch it. It looked soft. He liked soft things. He wondered what secrets Malik had inside. His hand hovered over it as he saw how stained with blood and dirt it was. He chose not to touch it. Feather. He had to get his feather to Malik.

He sweated mentally ordering his feet to take a few more steps, through the gate and then through the curtain. He leaned against the wall in Malik's private back room. Malik was asleep. The sounds Altaïr made coming in only cause Malik to grumble and stuff his hand under his pillow under his head for better comfort.

Bit by slow bit, Altaïr removed his armour and weapons. He did want to wake Malik, not just yet. It felt like hours to do this simple task. Focus faded in and out a few times. He dropped a piece by accident. The throwing knife vibrated by his head in the wooden shelf beside him. Malik was reaching for another. "Malik... Malik... I can't... get my boots... off..." Thankfully Malik registered the husky deep voice and decided it was not a phantom.

Within moments Malik was at Altaïr's side. He was only wearing his loose sleeping pants and Altaïr could not help but stare at the stump on Malik's left side. Ripping his vision away he drew out his feather. "It is done." Malik took the feather and just set it on the shelf ignoring everything else. He was helping Altaïr out of his hood and tunic, then shirt. The boots can be after Altaïr was lying down. Or maybe now. His knees buckled and confusion and misunderstanding danced in his expression. Then nothing but falling into Malik's embrace. _I came back._

_

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_

A/N #3 – Deviant Artist KotoriRod inspired me for the innocent healing kiss.

http:/ kotorirod .deviantart .com/art/Kiss-Thy-Wound-MalAlt-Fluff-135001566


	36. Chapter 36: Malik and the Journal

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – I'd freak out too if I were Malik. I hope people like the gentleness later.

* * *

Within moments Malik was at Altaïr's side. He was only wearing his loose sleeping pants and Altaïr could not help but stare at the stump on Malik's left side. Ripping his vision away he drew out his feather. "It is done." Malik took the feather and just set it on the shelf ignoring everything else. He was helping Altaïr out of his hood and tunic, then shirt. The boots can be after Altaïr was lying down. Or maybe now. His knees buckled and confusion and misunderstanding danced in his expression. Then nothing but falling into Malik's embrace. _I came back._

Malik thought it was in intruder for no one would dare invade the back room without his invitation. After the first warning dirk was thrown and the second in his hand, he heard the familiar voice and the ghost of Altaïr was leaning against the wall. At first Malik thought it had to be a ghost for it was not the usual white robed Altaïr wore and the expression was chillingly blank. He hurried over once he realized how cut up Altaïr was and that this must be a bad state of shock. He abandoned the other dirk under his pillow and disregarded the feather on the shelf. That he took it from Altaïr seemed to reassure the assassin that his mission was over.

Color and discomfort made Malik tighten his jaw as he noted Altaïr starting at the almost bare stump of his left arm, but even that was forgotten when he managed to help Altaïr out of the hood, tunic and shirt. Where armour had been Altaïr was purple and black with bruises. Where it had not been was cut, gashed, stabbed, and who knew what else. It was hard to tell. He was about to guide Altaïr to the bed to help him out of his boots and pants when the assassin's knees buckled. Malik was glad his stump still could function to help hold or brace someone. He caught Altaïr, holding him close. The assassin seemed confused as to why his legs were not obeying him. It was looking at Kadar and having his emotions ripped up all over again after going through it a day ago, save for the reality of a body that should be dead, and looked like a corpse.

Struggling, Malik managed to half drag Altaïr to the bed and lay him down. He stripped the rest of the assassin's clothes off and tried not to gasp. He was glad he had not brought all the supplied and extra bed mats upstairs, yet. His own was about to be thoroughly ruined. He filled a basin of water and carefully washed Altaïr upon it. Altaïr was conscious, if opened eyes could be considered that, but he reacted to nothing. Not the deep cleaning of his wounds, not the stinging disinfecting, not the occasional reopening or digging hay and dirt and fabric bits out, not the poking in to check deeper, not the prying free of an arrowhead, and not the stitching after. Occasionally Altaïr's hands would talon grip the sheet, but that was all.

It was a return to routine of healing for Malik. This time he hoped Altaïr would not flee. The fevers were especially bad and frequent this time. In the morning, Malik sent a pigeon off to Masyaf with both the confirmation of Altaïr's completed task and the statement that Altaïr would be in recovery for at least a fortnight. Twenty days off would be good for Altaïr, maybe good for them both to have a chance to sit and… talk? He did not put that in his brief note.

In the later afternoon of the third day, Malik panicked to not find Altaïr in the clean bed he had moved him to. He found Altaïr staggering in the kitchen area. "Snooping again?" Malik asked as he saw Altaïr pick up some fruit and then lose both fruit and footing. Malik helped him back to bed and brought him some mashed fruit, which he spoon fed him in small amounts. "I would have thought you had snooped into everything of mine by now and have no need to continue."

"Not the book," Malik nearly cheered to hear Altaïr speak. "My hands were dirty. It… looked soft."

Malik wondered a moment which book, but at the word soft he knew. Altaïr was not fighting him for now, though he had fought him a lot during his fevers. Healing Altaïr was a dangerous affair that only Malik likely would be willing to do without complaint or reservation. At the moment, Altaïr was safely half drugged. Malik was not taking chances this time. He stood silently and disappeared into the main room of the Bureau to return with the journal. "This one?" He held it out for Altaïr to take.

Anxiety roiled in Malik's belly as he watched. He had never gotten Altaïr a gift before. He felt odd having done so now and worried what Altaïr would think. He had no idea why these jitters invaded him. Altaïr had asked for a journal after all, so why did this feel like such an intimate gift? Altaïr weakly took the book and almost dropped it upon his chest, his fingers still clumsy. Malik caught it and balanced it as Altaïr explored the front cover with his fingers. As rough as Altaïr can be, brutal in his kills and his fights, this was delicate and curious. Malik felt like he was spying on a forbidden side of Altaïr, one he had been part of only in their late teens and never after. Altaïr traced the Brotherhood emblem and stroked the soft cover. Malik turned it over so Altaïr can see and touch the back side. Altaïr's fingers were as gentle there too. "Do you like this book?" Malik dared ask trying to keep the bizarre excited nervousness from his voice.

Altaïr nodded, "It's soft… and pretty… and simple…" His drugged heavy eyelids drooped and he drifted to sleep again. Altaïr was drugged just enough to not be able to really lie. His answer was honest and in that was everything Malik had hoped.

Malik chewed the inside of his cheek debating, and then he decided to leave the book there with Altaïr to hold in his slumber. He hadn't told Altaïr that this was the journal for him to write his _insanity_ into. He was enjoying too much the way Altaïr fondled it delicately and almost hugged it in his sleep. Malik was glad he had guessed right that Altaïr still secretly loved to touch soft things.

* * *

A/N #2 – no art


	37. Chapter 37: Altair Caged

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Thank so much for your reviews! Malik and Altaïr have had an... interesting forbidden youth and currently have a complicated tense relationship where they don't really know where they stand with each other. Trials and tribulations...

* * *

Malik chewed the inside of his cheek debating, and then he decided to leave the book there with Altaïr to hold in his slumber. He hadn't told Altaïr that this was the journal for him to write his _insanity_ into. He was enjoying too much the way Altaïr fondled it delicately and almost hugged it in his sleep. Malik was glad he had guessed right that Altaïr still secretly loved to touch soft things.

Altaïr felt sluggish. Thinking was sluggish. Moving was sluggish. Malik was around sometimes feeding him or washing him, or checking the many wounds, or helping him stumble off to relieve himself. It was embarrassing. He wanted to protest. Malik had other things to do. Altaïr had other things to do. He knew the feeling of being drugged and hated it. But it was better than the agony he had felt when they wore off.

He found himself cradled in Malik's arms. Didn't Malik have just one now? Held comfortingly against the terrors that plagued him in the night. Malik would never do that, would he? Altaïr wondered if he was dreaming or if this was real. He had no idea even what time of day it was or what day this was. He tried not to speak as it came out slurred, at least to his ears and he could not control what he might say.

Silence.

Sometimes that felt tense. Sometimes, it was bliss. Like when he and Malik used to lay in the grass in a hidden place near the water in Masyaf. Their two secret quiet places were a hidden hay stack that sometime Kadar joined them at and the other was this difficult to get to place that challenged Altaïr's fears of water. To get there required creeping across long planks or tree trunks felled across a giant chasm with water rushing below. That is probably the best way to describe what it was like walking into the Bureau of Jerusalem with Malik as Dai. The anxiety and mistepping or making a mistake, the certainty of a terrible fate if you did.

_The grass was soft. Malik was on his belly with a journal writing or sketching with a bit of charcoal. He was always doing things with his hands. And if they were not busy in that book, they were busy on Altaïr's body counting muscles and identifying parts of the body that Altaïr could not fathom existed inside him. He liked the feel of Malik's hands gliding over his body, Had more and more for nearly four of five years and more so since that one odd kiss. Not that either did not like women. They explained to themselves and each other that they were just practicing for when they did eventually have one. They tried to save this kind of intimacy for this grassy secret place or their bedroom. The hay, that was a risk. Kadar might sneak up on them and discover their forbidden actions. But was kissing so wrong? Was exploring each other so wrong? Nothing is true and everything is permitted. So... no.. it was not wrong, dammit. But it wasn't anyone's business._

It was lonely. He felt alone even with Malik nearby. They had not touched or kissed for years. He had tried not to think of Malik when he was with Adha and Nina. But there was something of the sweet memory of Malik's skin under the blankets when he was with those women. Nina somehow figured it out. Had she not been afraid of what the Master might do to her, Altaïr was certain she would have stabbed him in his sleep. In many ways, he was glad she left. She was like sleeping with a cobra. He missed sleeping with Malik. But so much, so many terrible things happened between them. He didn't deserve the amount of care Malik was giving him now.

Altaïr rolled over to see that book on the floor beside the bed mat. He wondered where Malik was sleeping. He had tried to sleep in the souk or on some cushions in this room, but found himself waking in Malik's bed every time. It smelled like Malik. The book sat tempting him. He closed his eyes and inhaled the smell of Malik again then studied the cover of the small book. Pale, soft, he wasn't sure why it was here. Did Malik want him to read it? He fingered the red emblem. Turning the book over, he recalled it had no design on the back. He liked this simplicity greatly, but it did not seem like Malik. Malik liked his journals of dark stiff leather embossed all over with designs. Altaïr flicked looks to the doorway curtain, wondering if Malik was going to step in and chastise him for looking. He lifted the back cover to peak a tiny bit.

_Some things are true... how I feel, our friendship... and some things should not be permitted... It's always a choice, a moral one. Let me help you when you no longer know the right one. Malik._

Movement at the door caused Altaïr to drop the back cover closed. _No, I was not snooping. You left it there. Next time, hide it._ He rolled over gritting his teeth. The drugs that dulled both the pain and his thinking were wearing off. Malik set down clean bandages and a jar of salve. Altaïr tried to ignore the sounds behind him and stared at the wall willing full sensation through his whole body, failingly.

He heard Malik bring in a basin of water and drop the towel, before sitting patiently behind Altaïr. "You are healing better today than the previous days. I'm going to take out some of the stitches." There was no reprimand to opening the book. Altaïr did not understand why. "I sent word of your successful mission to Al Mualim. You did well, brother."

Was that... approval? Praise? From Malik? Altaïr turned his head to see Malik motion him to sit up. "You drugged me again." Altaïr's voice came out rough as if he had not spoken in a week. Had it been that long?

"You needed to be still to heal. You needed rest." Malik explained. There was no bite in his tone. It was very matter of fact.

"I am in your way. You have ... things to do, better things to do. And... I should get back..."

Malik now snapped, "Do you never listen to me? You needed... still need to be still."

Malik just didn't understand, wouldn't understand. Who was he to command him like the Master. He was not the Master. Altaïr pursed his lips and ignored the forthcoming pains as he stood and snatched his clothing. He dressed as swiftly as he could while Malik protested at him, commanding him to just sit his ass down and stop being such a novice, "You do not have to prove anything, Altaïr!" Altaïr ignored him till he was dressed save his armour. He could get more in Masyaf if he had to. Malik was pushing the barrier with Altaïr and about to pay dearly. Altaïr needed to get out before he lost control and took it out on Malik. Malik just did not understand how it felt to be trapped and confined like this!

* * *

A/N #2 – no art


	38. Chapter 38: Malik Pins Altair YAOI

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – We wanted a locked room and to see them have it out a bit... well... here we go... ROUND 1 ! I am sure there will be more in the future... Also... This might be um... kinda... Yaoi... yeah... *grin* just warning...

* * *

Altaïr pursed his lips and ignored the forthcoming pains as he stood and snatched his clothing. He dressed as swiftly as he could while Malik protested at him, commanding him to just sit his ass down and stop being such a novice, "You do not have to prove anything, Altaïr!" Altaïr ignored him till he was dressed save his armour. He could get more in Masyaf if he had to. Malik was pushing the barrier with Altaïr and about to pay dearly. Altaïr needed to get out before he lost control and took it out on Malik. Malik just did not understand how it felt to be trapped and confined like this!

Malik could not believe it. Altaïr was going to leave. He REALLY was in no fit state to. Or did Malik miscalculate? It didn't matter, Malik had no intention of letting Altaïr try to find his way to Masyaf yet. He was not going to let him just run away from this... from him...

He stepped in to block Altaïr from either exit. He even tried to shove him back to the bed. "You need to stay. Altaïr!" He too was losing his temper with this stubborn assassin.

Altaïr snarled suddenly and grabbed Malik, ramming him up against the wall. Malik swiftly calculated the places he could hit Altaïr now without really worsening his wounds. Though, the impact against the wall jarred him, as did the actual furious, feral contact. Looking into Altaïr's eyes was like looking into a very mad eagle. Fine... if Altaïr really wanted to fight him, he was going to get one hell of a fight.

Malik stepped one foot in between Altaïr's and threw in his weight. The fight began! Malik earned a few very decent bruises and was glad Altaïr did not have a knife, or those might have been very fatal hits. Altaïr earned new bruises to add to the many he had. Fists flew. Legs tangled. Two men tumbled and struggled for dominance and control.

Finally Malik seemed to have Altaïr pinned. He straddled the assassin with the white tunic gripped in his fist which pushed hard to keep Altaïr on the floor, but deftly avoided the broken ribs. Altaïr struggled on the floor under Malik. He grabbed the sleeve and wrist with one hand and dug talons into Malik's pants. He simply lacked enough strength to really throw the other man off.

Malik's black hair was plastered to his face with sweat which also made the little goatee stand out start on his chin. He dark eyes glared angrily at Altaïr. Altaïr bared teeth and glared back with fiery golden eyes. They were locked and not moving, unable to, not daring to.

"I said stay put! You are not well enough to go. If you would... Dammit Altaïr! You asked to trust ME! Why don't you? I am here and all I am trying to do is help you! STOP FIGHTING ME! I am NOT the enemy! You want to trust me? You want to be trusted? PROVE IT! Prove I can trust you! Prove I can trust that you are not going to abandon me! Stay so I do not have to worry about you! I will not let you leave me to die like Kadar! I am NOT letting you leave me again!" His cheeks felt too wet as the drops wriggled down to his jaw and dripped onto the fabric of their clothes.

Malik felt Altaïr's grip loosen on his leg and wrist. He had to blink several times to see through the blur in his eyes. Altaïr's breathing was ragged, his own cheeks wet despite his scrunched eyes. Malik relaxed his hold on Altaïr's tunic and just rested his hand on Altaïr's chest, ignoring that his weight was full on Altaïr while he straddled him.

"Altaïr... Can I... will you let me... trust you? Will you please... trust me just a little?" It was hard asking around the lump in his throat. The ache in his heart panged painfully when Altaïr turned his head away. Malik didn't realize he had held his breath till Altaïr nodded. Malik sighed with relief. "May I resume what I was going to do earlier?" Again Altaïr just silently nodded.

He lifted his hand from Altaïr's chest and slid it under the hem of the hood and pushed it up till it was nearly off Altaïr's head. Altaïr lifted his head to let it come off. Malik wanted to know what was going on inside Altaïr's thoughts. He threaded his fingers through Altaïr's hair briefly. It made Altaïr's eyes snap open and at him. He carefully tugged the tunic up with the shirt. Altaïr raised his shoulder a little, then the next one, then his head allowing Malik to remove it. The fight was gone from him. Malik wasn't sure if that was good or bad, but it was welcome.

Some stitches had been torn in the fight, but it was not terrible, they didn't need to be restitched. Malik leaned way over and pulled the towel with the medical supplied over. He didn't need to remain straddling Altaïr, but he chose to. In a way not ready to trust that Altaïr would just get up and go, and in a way he liked this position very much. It was easier to treat Altaïr, or so he told himself. After inspecting all the wounds, old and new, he concluded that in another week, all but the broken ribs will be mostly healed. "I sent word to Al Mualim not to expect you for a while, that you needed a fortnight to heal." He wished Altaïr would say something... the silence was unnerving. "I'd like you to stay that time. You are not invading. You are not disrupting. I want you here. I am not that busy either. I just do things so I can do things."

Malik shifted slightly to straddle Altaïr's thighs and motioned for him to sit up. "I want to rebandage your ribs to hold them in place to heal. He did not expect his own heart to jump as Altaïr did so. Or again as Altaïr wrapped one arm around Malik's waist with the other behind him to lean on for balance. He felt uncomfortably warm and refused to believe that he might be blushing. His hoped the lighting was dim enough that Altaïr would not notice. He focused on bandaging around Altaïr's chest carefully. It was very awkward straddling Altaïr's lap like this, easier to bandage, but dear Allah, let no one come in. _Did I lock the front door?_

Turmoil bubbled inside Malik. Turmoil between this closeness and the feelings of abandonment for the years they were solo assassins and the tragedy of Kadar which Malik had so bluntly yanked into their current memories. He moved his stump and used it to rub his face of the dampness on the folded sleeve. His spine snapped rigid when Altaïr leaned forward a little more and wrapped the other arm around him. After a few frantic fluttering heartbeats, he realized Altaïr was resting his head on his shoulder, not the one with the stump, but still. "Altaïr... I am never too busy. Really, even if I say I am. I am not. Not for you. But... I... I am lonely." He swallowed hard when he felt Altaïr tighten the hug and then felt Altaïr's shoulders shaking. He pushed his fingers into Altaïr's hair and the back of his neck and held him a while. _We are both lonely..._

_

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_

A/N #2 – ART! By ShortieBat... a new art discovery today that inspired me for this chapter.

http:/ shortiebat .deviantart .com/art/Tears-of-Sorrow-162975133


	39. Chapter 39: Altair and the Journal

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Sorry this took a little while to finish. I am working at a conference, preparing to speak at said conference... also, the last could chapters were very heavy emotionally. I needed to breathe before I continued.

* * *

Malik moved his stump and used it to rub his face of the dampness on the folded sleeve. His spine snapped rigid when Altaïr leaned forward a little more and wrapped the other arm around him. After a few frantic fluttering heartbeats, he realized Altaïr was resting his head on his shoulder, not the one with the stump, but still. "Altaïr... I am never too busy. Really, even if I say I am. I am not. Not for you. But... I... I am lonely." He swallowed hard when he felt Altaïr tighten the hug and then felt Altaïr's shoulders shaking. He pushed his fingers into Altaïr's hair and the back of his neck and held him a while. _We are both lonely..._

At first Altaïr could not believe it. Malik had him pinned. It wasn't that Malik had one arm that made him disbelieve, but that he has always been broader in shoulder, taller and heavier muscled than Malik. Normally he could have easily defeated Malik by sheer force. It made him angrier, so angry he could not think. His vision shifted into that wild hazy color flares. Malik shone bright blue in his vision, not red. That was the next shock after the one about being pinned. He froze in his fight and struggle. In the gaps and silences, Malik's words found their way to Altaïr's ears. He gave up his fight.

His hands gave up their purchase on Malik's clothes. His whole body was tired and the hurting parts smarted sharply. Hearing Malik bring up Kadar and compare him to Kadar in that Malik was afraid that Altaïr might die, was like a deep stab in his own soul and guilt. He did not think Malik would worry. He was sure Malik hated him.

He let Malik remove his hood. The feel of Malik's fingers moving through his hair tenderly flooded him with memories of those times together where Malik comforted him from the night terrors he would never talk about. He looked back to Malik to see tears streaming down the man's face. He wanted to say something, but found he could not. There was nothing to say. There was too much to say. He sat as bade, balanced on one hand and the other around Malik's waist. Before long, and he didn't even realize he had, he was clinging with both arms around Malik. He felt like he was drowning. Malik admitted to loneliness. Altaïr never knew, never suspected, and so felt the same. He buried his face in Malik's shoulder and gave in to other emotions, again feeling those soothing fingers stroke through his hair.

It was a long while before he was calm again and just held and was held by Malik. He had not realized how badly he missed this. He doubted this was any sort of forgiveness, but it was proof perhaps that Malik was a better man than he to set aside his bitterness and to voice his vulnerabilities. Altaïr was too afraid to voice his. If he did, it might make them more real. If they were real, how could he function?

He felt Malik rise and then carefully get up to tidy the chaos of the room after their fight as Altaïr pieced together his tattered senses. Already he felt the loss of the comfortable feeling in his lap. He had never had Malik in his lap like that, not even when they were younger. He wanted Malik there again. He wasn't sure why, however they could never be anything like they were in their youth. And, Altaïr had had women, it would be wrong to want... a man.

He watched Malik clean and again as bade, removed his pants and laid on the bed mat so Malik could deal with the stitches on his legs. Now and then his muscles twitch or he inhaled sharply, but that was the only indications he let show of the pain he felt. He still could not find his tongue to speak. Nor could he will his hand to do what in his heart he really wanted to, which was to reach out to touch Malik. His eyes sometimes drifted to the empty sleeve and shied away. He wanted to redress so he could hide in the shadows of his hood. Malik never let him brood long as he handed Altaïr a cup of water to sip.

"Did you look through it?" Malik asked, indicating the soft journal.

Altaïr tensed, set down the cup and defended himself, "I would never pry into your personal affairs."

"Don't lie, Altaïr. You poke into everything of mine, you always have." There was the smallest hint of sharpness in Malik's tone and Altaïr flinched.

"I did not look through the book. Only the inside of the back cover," he admitted with embarrassment.

Confusion twisted his expression at the mirth in Malik's. "Altaïr, why must you always read the LAST page of a book first? Why not start at the beginning?"

Altaïr shrugged feeling oddly offended and criticized. "I want to know if it is worth reading. I am sorry I saw something so personal. Next time. Don't leave it out for me."

Malik's only reply was to place the book in Altaïr's hands. "I'm going to make some food."

Altaïr's brows raised again in confusion. He set the book in his lap and sniffed the cup of water to see maybe there was a drug there causing him the unreal hallucination of permission to peruse one of Malik's personal journals. It smelled normal. Malik rolled his eyes at Altaïr's mistrust. "I have not drugged you. I'm going to hope the pains are not too bad tonight and you can sleep without the drugs."

Altaïr's thumbs caressed the soft cover of the journal. "I thought you preferred dark stiff leather embossed with ... stuff..."

"Paisley? Or Hindi henna motifs?" Malik corrected from the little kitchen.

Altaïr frowned, annoyed that he could not think of what those little doodly thingies were and felt completely like an ignorant novice in the same breath.

"Altaïr? I asked you this last week, but you were not really well enough to be coherent, so I suspect you do not recall. But, do you like it? The journal? Or would you prefer something more along the lines of something I would write in?"

Altaïr was unsure what all that meant. It was Malik's journal. Why would his opinion mean anything? He opened the book at a random page and saw the light sketch, inked so it would not fade, of grassy place he and Malik used to hide at... the one across from the water gorge that Altaïr hated to get to but loved once there. The page was otherwise devoid of writing yet had more than enough space to write on. "I like this book." He frowned at how dumb that sounded coming off his tongue and wished he had something more eloquent to say about Malik's journal. He then turned the book over and opened the front cover.

"Good. That one is for you," he heard Malik state from the kitchen again.

Altaïr just stared dumbfounded. He was not sure he had heard Malik correctly, but the evidence inside the book made it ... well... true. There on the inside cover was the Creed. And there on the first page was his name.

Malik set a plate of flavoured rice and shredded meat beside Altaïr. "You asked for one. I hope you like it enough to practice writing in it."

Altaïr just continued to stare at his name so beautifully written and artistically designed like the inside of some of the religious manuscripts. He turned a few pages and found the marker he had been ignoring at first. A rice paper note neatly wrapped around a golden eagle feather. The tip of the feather had been expertly cut to be a writing quill.

Malik recited from heart the note: _"You have information well in you. You have requested to work on a mission. Here is your feather to complete it."_

Altaïr lifted his eyes finally from the book to meet Malik's. He felt like a fish out of water opening and closing his mouth unable to speak his thoughts. Finally he settled with, "Thank you."

Malik then gently took the book from Altaïr and replaced it with the plate. The two ate in silence.

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A/N #2 – no art...


	40. Chapter 40: Malik Startles Altair

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Sorry this took a little while to finish. I am working at a conference, preparing to speak at said conference... also, the last could chapters were very heavy emotionally. I needed to breathe before I continued.

* * *

Altaïr lifted his eyes finally from the book to meet Malik's. He felt like a fish out of water opening and closing his mouth unable to speak his thoughts. Finally he settled with, "Thank you."

Malik then gently took the book from Altaïr and replaced it with the plate. The two ate in silence.

Malik really had not expected Altaïr to be so compliant. Altaïr truly had changed. He wondered how long this would last though. Not that he didn't trust Altaïr, which he didn't really yet but was trying. It was more that he knew Altaïr well enough to know Altaïr did not deal well with being wounded and resting for long.

He hoped Altaïr would be writing in that journal immediately as a way to pass the time while he rested, but he did not. Malik needed to get back to being the Dai of the Bureau and back to being a rafiq, a scribe and map maker. He had a role in this city and people who had paid lots for certain things. He tried to do some of these things in the back room where he could let Altaïr see what he was doing and at the same time keep an eye on him.

Without the drugs, Altaïr had a hard time sleeping, both for the night terrors and the pain. The nights were a bit sleepless for them both. Also, risky. On the second night, Malik roused to wake Altaïr from the next night terror. Altaïr was tossing and sometimes flailing, like he was fighting and running. "Altaïr... Altaïr..." calling his name did not wake the usual light sleeper so Malik placed his hand on Altaïr's arm.

He barely had a chance to suck in a breath. Altaïr was on him in a flash. He pinned Malik down with a talon grip on his throat. "Altaïr," Malik struggled to croak out. The look was wild and unseeing in Altaïr's eyes. "Altaïr... I can't... breathe!" He was genuinely afraid now, but Altaïr blinked a few times and scrambled back off of Malik, stumbling into the wall, tripping a bit on the bed mat. Malik sat up swallowing and rubbing his throat, taking in grateful gulps of air.

"You startled me," mumbles Altaïr.

Malik stood knowing he would be well bruised on his throat from this. He took a step closer to Altaïr, "I should have expected that." He tried to reassure Altaïr he was fine.

"No! Don't... don't get close!"

Malik could not fathom what this reaction was till the thought it through a little and realized Altaïr was blaming himself. It was all in his posture, shame, guilt, self disgust and self loathing. Malik stepped closer and took Altaïr's bare arm anyways, guiding him back to sit on the bed mat. "I am not afraid of you and could have fought you off if I wanted to. So stop being a scared novice for something you did in your half-sleep." He noted the grumble and nodded to himself that he broke that little pattern of thinking that Altaïr locked himself in. "Here," Malik handed Altaïr the journal. "Write it down. Write what you dreamed."

Tired himself, he laid back on the spare bed mat he had set for himself. He drifted to sleep finally hearing Altaïr slowly skritching in the journal.

Altaïr was still writing, when Malik woke the next morning. He was about to chastise Altaïr about not sleeping, but chose not to since Altaïr was so focused in the journal. Instead he just watched.

Altaïr would shift his naked body now and then to relieve aches. Malik noted the leanness and how pale Altaïr was compared to himself. Surely, if Altaïr did not go about robed and hooded, he would be burned as red as some of the soldiers new in from the English or German peoples. Maybe Altaïr's heritage was from them? The scars stood out often red or whiter on Altaïr's flesh. The bruised seemed darker. Altaïr had gotten a bit thin and gaunt being in bed rest from that last mission. Malik decided to increase his diet and maybe get Altaïr to spar a little with him. Allah knew, Malik desperately wanted to spar with someone who would not refuse to fight him. He wondered if Altaïr would refuse. He noted that Altaïr was wearing some loose thin pants for comfort. But why Altaïr was not chilled from the night, Malik didn't know.

It was so unusual to see Altaïr writing. There was a pause in the writing as Altaïr's brows furrowed. Malik saw him tilt his head to look out the corner of his eye at him then turn it to look directly. Malik chose to yawn then so he didn't look like he had been watching Altaïr for the last maybe twenty minutes. Altaïr pulled the bed sheet up and around him, over his head and there, he had a makeshift cloak and hood to hide under before returning to the slow and frustrating writing. Malik shook his head at Altaïr's insecurity bemused that Altaïr liked his hoody like a small child likes their blankie.

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A/N #2 – no art...


	41. Chapter 41: Altair's Dream YAOI

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – WARNING... WARNING... Yaoi... YAOI! Enjoy and please comment!

* * *

Altaïr pulled the bed sheet up and around him, over his head and there, he had a makeshift cloak and hood to hide under before returning to the slow and frustrating writing. Malik shook his head at Altaïr's insecurity bemused that Altaïr liked his hoody like a small child likes their blankie.

The night terror made no sense to Altaïr as he had tried to write the details in the book. He dreamed of fighting all the assassins and Dai through the library in Masyaf. He dreamed that the Master was in a hundred places at once laughing at him. He dreamed that even Malik was his enemy and Kadar had come back from the dead all bloody to fight by Malik's side. It was like nonsense. The details faded by the hour.

He felt more comfortable under the blanket and turned the page to write something else. This was the first page with a little drawing in the corner. It was a doodle of his own childhood face. He frowned at it not at all recognizing the child. It broke his focus and anything else he was going to write vanished into the crowd of thoughts.

There was a loud dragging noise that forced Altaïr to get up and pull the knife from his hanging harness. He used the tip to lift the fake wall curtain and nearly stabbed Malik in the back by doing so. "Malik!"

"What?" Malik was dragging in a large tub.

"Absolutely not! I am NOT getting into that! I am not going to sit in a trap." Altaïr glared warily at the bathing tub and flashed looks of betrayal at Malik.

"Who said it was for you? I might want to be clean too, you know. And I happen to enjoy soaking in it."

Altaïr turned red with embarrassment at his assumption.

Malik ignored him and proceeded with dragging the tub into the back room entirely, then filling it with hot water he was heating repeatedly in the little kitchen. Altaïr sat as far from it as he could and glued his eyes into the journal. Every muscle tensed. He began to write again, scratching it out and rewriting.

He heard Malik removing his clothing and risked a small glance. Malik's skin was smooth and tanned. There were some scars upon it as one would expect from an assassin. He watched the robe pool on the floor and then the pants. Malik undressed the same way still, leaving the shirt till last. Altaïr returned his attention back to the journal and tried to write out the first times he noticed this pattern in Malik and his wondering of why. He started to write about how much he missed Malik's soft skin under his fingers and then scratched it out in case Malik was going to read this.

The sound of Malik sinking onto the bath caused Altaïr to jump and drop the quill, leaking black blotches all over the page. He tried to clean it, but it only looked worse. He had to set the book down to dry. Just as well, he was too tired to keep writing or thinking.

Lying upon his side, he unabashedly watched Malik bathe. He could not help but stare trying to look without looking at the remains of Malik's left arm, but Malik was turned in such a way as it was too difficult to see. The steam from the hot bath seemed to be making the whole room hot and damp. Altaïr felt the heat rise in him and the dampness upon his skin. He rolled over to try to banish the forbidden thoughts along with the vision before him. The wall... the wall was very well made. The stone seemed almost perfectly cut to fit together. This was so not helping! The vision invaded his dream when he drifted unexpectedly to sleep.

_Malik had stepped from the bath as he always did, dripping wet to shake his hair at Altaïr. It always made the two laugh. Altaïr never bathed despite Malik's coaxing, but he would sit on a towel with a basin and wash himself that way. Sometimes Malik would help. Sometimes Altaïr would just run his fingers down Malik's back to watch the other teen shiver. In the privacy of their shared room, this was like a little ritual. There was playful comparisons and playful competition, foolish and boyish. _

_He had watched Malik bathe as usual while washing himself, too nervous to really get too close to the tub. Malik had stopped asking about that fear years ago, thank Allah. He came to sit next to Altaïr to get dry. Altaïr turned with a towel in hand to dropped it over Malik's head with a mischievous laugh. Then he traced the lines that water made down Malik's back. He was rewarded by a shiver. Biting the inside of his lip debating this evening's evils, he leaned forward. He ran both hands up Malik's soft back. It had to be a really good plan, it was Malik's 17__th__ birthday. Malik had given up trying to focus on drying his hair and just let Altaïr explore his back. It was soothing and exciting._

_On the back of Malik's neck, Altaïr breathed out a request, "Can I... I want to touch you." Then he pressed his lips briefly on the name of Malik's neck, rewarded with a small gasp of surprise then practically a subconscious nod. Altaïr slid his hands deviously around either side of Malik and around the front, pressing his chest to Malik's back. He could feel each of Malik's breaths, his own matching the rhythm. Then he slid both hands down the still soft skin to the darker line of hair and then around the already hardening member. He felt Malik gasp again. "I like that I can make you silent and gasping,"_ _Altaïr joked._

"_I like when I hear my name on your lips." Malik smirked._

_Altaïr murmured, "Malik, your name will always be on my lips... and more." He had to smother the grin so he could kiss Malik's neck again. "Malik..." He placed a small kiss, "Malik..." and another. "Malik..." he murmured in Malik's ear. He had to grin again to feel Malik breathing fast and almost squirming with the desire to thrust into Altaïr's hands. He found himself as aroused just from Malik's arousal and shifted his sitting position to be batter pressed up against Malik. They both panted almost in time with the movements of Altaïr around Malik's shaft. Huffing. Thrusting. Murmuring. "Malik..." _

Altaïr murmured and moved in his sleep, "Mmm... Malik..."

* * *

A/N #2 – no art...


	42. Chapter 42: Malik Frustrated

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – I know you are all dying to know what Malik did about THAT! Malik has his own secrets...

* * *

Altaïr murmured and moved in his sleep, "Mmm... Malik..."

Malik's eyebrows flew into his hair like panicked pigeons. He was in the middle of drying when he heard the sounds. He had even walked over with the wet towel ready to smother Altaïr for having a saucy sexy dream in his presence. _How dare he get sex even in his dreams when I don't._ He stood over Altaïr, wet towel in hand.

Then he heard his name more clearly.

He took a couple steps back, scarlet striking swiftly across his face. His breath caught. Then as hard as he could throw it, he did. The wet towel impacted with Altaïr, eliciting a yell of surprise. "Malik! What the hell!"

"What the hell me? What the hell you! How dare you rut in my bed!" Malik had no idea why he was so mad. He just was. Maybe it was because he felt Altaïr no longer had the right to be that intimate with him. Maybe he was mad that he was not actively participating. Whatever, he was furious. Injured or not, Altaïr was not allowed to have a dream like THAT in his presence!

He watched in satisfaction as Altaïr realized his own erection and had the decency to be humiliated.

"Clean yourself up... and clean my bed!" Malik snapped. He pulled on his clothing grumpily and stomping out to the main room to bandage the end of his stump to protect it from accidental impacts. Out there he also shouldered on his black robe. He listened for the sounds of Altaïr washing before he set up the scribe work he had on his duty roster. His strokes were too harsh for the delicate wedding document, so he set that aside and made a grocery list instead. He needed more salves, medicines, bandages, that gut thread he resorted to was brilliant as it absorbed neatly into the body, maybe more curved needles as they made one-handed stitching easier, and eggs because he was craving them as his own personal comfort food.

_How dare Altaïr dream of ... of... US! He's had women. He's had WIVES! What have I had? NOTHING! Not that anyone will even LOOK at me, crippled as I am._

He tore up his list just because he felt the need to destroy something. It was barely enough. He slammed a few things around before he was calm enough to rewrite his list. Once done he returned to the private back room. Altaïr had cleaned up... everything... except the tub of water and was asleep on the bed mat again, or at least pretending to be, facing the wall. Malik wanted to hit him again, just... because. He vented by dragging the heavy tub into the kitchen and waste room and dumping it down the waste grill.

"I'll be back," announced Malik. "Don't go anywhere." His words clipped out with the last bit of his anger.

Altaïr continued to ignore him.

The walk outside helped a great deal. Malik needed to be in the sun, breathe the fresh air and see other human beings. The disdainful looks and glances of disgust were mostly ignorable. He knew them well by now having had them for a year. They were to abhorrent looks of those who saw only a cripple. The occasional shoulder shove by passing thugs added to the usual outside walk. Malik was then reminded why he actually hated being out there and regretted that he was just out for a walk.

When he returned from his walk, his robes were rumbled and dusty. The basket of twenty eggs proved to have only eight survivors. He locked the front door and marched right into the little back kitchen. Feeling Altaïr's questioning gaze, he snapped, "Don't ask. Don't even speak to me. You have no idea what it is like here and I do not want your judgment. I am fine and I can take care of myself. I am NOT a cripple!"

Malik spat out a string of curses as he dropped the basket, breaking a few more of the eggs. He snarled and threw anything he could reach, which were mostly the cooking pots. He didn't see Altaïr, who knelt and picked up the basket, taking it into the sleeping area to sort the good from the broken eggs.

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A/N #2 – no art...


	43. Chapter 43: Altair Lurks Away

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – I know you are all dying to know what Malik did about THAT! Malik has his own secrets...

* * *

"I am NOT a cripple!" Malik spat out a string of curses as he dropped the basket, breaking a few more of the eggs. He snarled and threw anything he could reach, which were mostly the cooking pots. He didn't see Altaïr, who knelt and picked up the basket, taking it into the sleeping area to sort the good from the broken eggs.

Altaïr stayed quiet as Malik rampaged through the little side kitchen, then stormed to rampage a while in the main room out front. He lifted his eyes not entirely certain what happened but piecing it slowly together. Altaïr took the mess of eggs to the kitchen and stopped to survey the chaos left there. Little by little, he cleaned. He wiped the good eggs and set them in a clean basket with a fresh protective cloth, washed the egg messy basket, and took the next hour or so to set the little kitchen righty again.

By the end, he hurt a good deal. He had to bend and stretch and lift and ... where the hell did that pan come from? He wiped up spills and disposed of wasted jars of preserves. Now and then he stopped to listen to Malik venting with a sword in the other room.

When he was done and the place was clean, he finished his own personal hygiene. He shaved. It felt much too tense in the Bureau at the moment. He dressed and mulled over the earlier experiences, debating just leaving. He was mostly well enough to go. The utter humiliation of waking to having been rutting in the bed while Malik was bathing just made being there much much more uncomfortable. But he promised. Malik asked him to prove he can be trusted and to stay. He looked to the main room. He looked to the stairs to9 the second floor with the roof hatch.

Malik was so angry. Something had happened that made him feel like a cripple. Altaïr figured Malik must have had to put up with harassment on the street. Maybe it was rougher than usual. To keep his cover as a rafiq, he would not be able to fight back. It was not right. Every man had a right to fight back and defend themselves. Maybe Malik couldn't? Malik needed an assistant like other rafiqs. He needed someone to go with him on the errands or run them for him.

Altaïr made his decision. He took the journal and pot of ink and climbed the stairs to the roof.

The sun was a shock after being in dim rooms for... Altaïr had no idea how long. He felt a little naked without his armour and weapons. Well, he did have a knife tucked in his belt, just in case a roof archer came to harass him. He tugged his sleeves down and pulled on his fingerless gloves. Squinting at the bright sun, he then tugged the hood over his eyes and wished there was shade up here. He walked around the roof of the Bureau seeking a shady spot behind a wall and plopping himself down.

He stared at the journal for a long while. Rereading the near nonsense and tired scribble of the nightmare seemed ridiculous. What was the point of writing out a dream? He reread the Creed inside the front cover, then Malik's statement inside the back cover. He felt like this was a bad idea to write things down. Why bother? It was his insanity. Was it insane?

He turned through the pages looking at all the little sketches. They were mostly of him, of Kadar, of places in Masyaf, of scraps of maps, sometimes just of a hand, or maybe of pieces of armour. Malik had always been good at art as well as the most highly literate person he could think of in Masyaf. Altaïr admired him lots, but today was almost scared of him. He gritted his teeth because he should not be scared of anything... except maybe drowning. He wondered what Malik was scared of. He wished they were friends like they were as teens and could just... talk. Altaïr though was too embarrassed to talk or even face Malik. The idea of just taking off was so appealing. It would be so easy. But then Malik would never trust him. He needed Malik to trust him. He needed someone to.

That is where he began. He reopened the journal and dipped the quill into the ink. What is trust? Does it have anything to do with friendship? Why was trust needed? Altaïr's head was full of esoteric questions then he needed answers to. He needed someone who could understand them enough to help him sort them out.

"You are not a cripple Malik," Altaïr spoke softly to no one. "And I am not stupid, just because it is hard to read and write doesn't mean I do not listen, think or know. Why am I always treated like an ignorant child or a tool... or like a trainable quality horse?" He tapped the quill on his chin oblivious of the marks it left behind and began to write. It was slow and used a lot of his concentration.

* * *

A/N #2 – no art...


	44. Chapter 44: Malik Spit

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Wake up calls are sometimes needed.

* * *

"You are not a cripple Malik," Altaïr spoke softly to no one. "And I am not stupid, just because it is hard to read and write doesn't mean I do not listen, think or know. Why am I always treated like an ignorant child or a tool... or like a trainable quality horse?" He tapped the quill on his chin oblivious of the marks it left behind and began to write. It was slow and used a lot of his concentration.

Malik dropped the sword on the ground, too tired now to hold it, and slumped to sitting. He felt like nothing. He felt like no one cared that he hated how everyone else treated him. He felt like he was isolated. When he caught his breath and rolled his eyes at his stupid self pitying, he felt like an idiot for having what he could only call a temper tantrum. It never mattered if he vented before. No one was ever here. Now his mood had been witnessed. He took out a year of frustration at Altaïr, sexual anger and the repressed anxiety of being treated like an unwanted cripple.

He picked himself up off the floor and tossed the sword back into the large metal vase that held several other 'decorative' blades. Malik felt a little more focused after splashing water on his face from the fountain in the souk. He righted the table and tidied the scrolls that had fallen. He counted the pots of ink to be sure he had not broken any. Ink was expensive and he was not receiving nearly enough of a stipend as he needed from Masyaf. He added some incense to the coal in his pot and breathed in the soothing scent.

Annoyed only slightly that he will have to apologize to Altaïr of all people, he reminded himself that Altaïr had been completely cooperative today and the rutting incident... well... they might have to talk about that. To be fair, Altaïr was asleep and dreaming. Malik was only a little jealous. Dreams like that had not really come to him in a long while. He felt... dysfunctional. Not that he would EVER admit that to anyone! He resolved to walk into the private back room and apologize for his outburst.

He lifted the fake wall curtain and stepped into the room, letting it fall behind him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no one was there. Malik's eyes darted around the room. All of Altaïr's clothing was gone. Malik's own bed mat was clean and the bed made up with his things back upon it. The other bed mat that Malik had been using was rolled up in the corner and tied. Altaïr's armour was piled on the floor beside it. But there was no Altaïr. He was just... gone. Malik pursed his lips at his own foolishness. How could he not expect Altaïr to not run off after what happened today? He checked the kitchen just in case, and the waste room. Both were in perfect order once more and clean. Altaïr had cleaned everything. But still, no Altaïr could be found.

"Dammit, this... this was my fault."

Malik climbed the stairs to the second floor, it was in its usual chaos, but the hatch to the roof was ajar. He ran his fingers through his short black hair. Was there a point to go looking for him? He would be half way to the front gate of the city by now. He pushed open the hatch and stepped out onto the sunny roof. An initial scan revealed no Altaïr. He had managed to chase Altaïr away again. Malik felt lonelier than ever now. He walked about the roof to see if maybe... just maybe... he could spot Altaïr in the distance. Altaïr still had wounds and broken ribs, maybe he didn't get far?

He froze in place with a toe in the shadow of the second floor wall. There sat Altaïr. _He... stayed?_ Malik could not believe it. Altaïr was sitting in the shade deeply focused on writing in the journal. His hood hid any possible visibility of his face. It was a barrier and a message of broken trust. Malik quietly sat beside him. He regretted sitting with his left stump closest to Altaïr, he could do so little with it but maybe make Altaïr more uncomfortable. He saw Altaïr's hood tilt in his direction. Then Altaïr stopped tapping his chin with the quill, wrote the last word or three and closed the journal.

"Safety and peace, Malik."

It really was good to hear his name spoken by Altaïr and not to be called Dai or rafiq. "Were it that the city was possessed of either..." As Altaïr straightened and turned to face him, Malik saw the black smudges on Altaïr's chin from the quill. He spat on his sleeve and rubbed it away without even thinking.

"Did... you... I... Malik! I can't believe you just... that... that is one of the most disgusting things anyone has ever done to me!"

Malik's eyes bugged. "You... there... You had black ink all over your chin."

"You SPAT on your sleeve and then wiped me with it. I need to go wash now."

Malik watched Altaïr collect his things and go back inside the Bureau. A small smirk touched Malik's lips. He to stood and went back inside to start some food for them both. He sure as hell was not letting Altaïr cook. Malik's cooking may not be exciting, but it was at least edible, and sometimes even good.

* * *

A/N #2 – no art...


	45. Chapter 45: Altair: Touch It

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – I changed the rating of the story from T to M. I should have done so a few chapters ago because of the YAOI dream. Oops. It is done now. Especially since there will be more like that and some will be more explicit, go farther that... playing, and well... very not T but very M rating. Thanks everyone for reading to this point. I thought I should balance the earlier angst with a moment of tenderness. Enjoy.

* * *

"You SPAT on your sleeve and then wiped me with it. I need to go wash now."

Malik watched Altaïr collect his things and go back inside the Bureau. A small smirk touched Malik's lips. He too stood and went back inside to start some food for them both. He sure as hell was not letting Altaïr cook. Malik's cooking may not be exciting, but it was at least edible, and sometimes even good.

Altaïr set his journal, quill and ink on the floor beside his armour then proceeded to do exactly as he intended. He scrubbed his chin clean. When Altaïr walked back from the fountain, he saw Malik staring at him. "What?"

Malik spat on his sleeve again.

"NO! Absolutely not!" Altaïr retreated back to the souk to scrub more only to hear Malik laughing hard in the little kitchen. "I'll get you for that later... I promise." Malik struggled to stop laughing.

The banter back and forth was lighter than it had ever been between them, like when they used to be friends. They weren't really friends, but the pretending made the evening bearable. Neither spoke of the day's earlier incidents. They tried to wipe them from having ever happened.

Altaïr couldn't really forget though. He planned to sleep in the souk... just in case. At least there if something embarrassing happens in his sleep, Malik won't be there to hear it. He also could not forget how upset Malik was from his trip outside. His eyes kept drifting to Malik's stump.

Malik's snarly tone was clear, "Are you afraid of it?"

"No, nothing scares me," Altaïr pointedly looked away.

"Don't lie."

Altaïr returned his gaze, "Does it still hurt?" Altaïr was concerned that this was way too taboo a subject to be talking about, but since they were on it... might as well follow through.

He watched Malik's expressions change and shift as though pondering sceptically.

"Malik," Altaïr felt a need to state what he thought was the obvious, "I have never, and I never will consider you a cripple. But if... if some of my scars still hurt, I wanted to know if that still hurt."

Malik's expression softened. "Which of your wounds still hurt?"

"My knee..." It was a wound he earned in Solomon's Temple when he was thrown through the scaffolding and the wall collapsed. He had ignored it. It was bearable, but it still ached sometimes. He had no actual scars which is what confused him. He removed his boot and rolled up his pant leg to let Malik inspect it. Then Altaïr lied haltingly, "I was thrown through some scaffolding a little while ago. It seems ok, but sometimes it just... stabs."

Malik nodded like he understood, though the look on his face was clear that he knew Altaïr was lying about something, not about being injured, but the how and when. "It should have been seen to immediately. Now I think you will be stuck with the hurting now and then forever."

Altaïr pushed back his hood so he could see Malik better. Their eyes met and held for several seconds or was it minutes? Then Malik pushed off the black Dai robe. He didn't wear a shirt under, just the sleeveless tunic. Without the Dai robe, the rafiqs and Dai could almost pass for any other assassin. Altaïr had thought that they wore very different clothing. He watched as Malik even removed the tunic to sit just in his pants. The stump was very clearly visible. Malik tugged the slip knot that held the simple bandaging in place and unwound it from his left arm and shoulder. The scarring was terrible on the very end, but was otherwise a clean healing. Altaïr wasn't sure what to expect. The last time he had really seen it, it was a bloody mess.

"Only the end hurts if I impact it directly," explained Malik. "Sometimes I get phantom pains. Like a stabbing or ache in a hand that is not there. It isn't too often. But I know that will happen forever too."

Altaïr winced. This was his fault. He should have done something to prevent it. He should have... there were so many things he should have and should not have done.

"Touch it." Malik was firm in his request.

Altaïr was not sure if he should or why Malik demanded he do so. This was as startling as when Malik had reached into his hood a while ago and leaned his brow to Altaïr's.

"Touch it!" Malik demanded more insistently.

Altaïr realized this was like a test. If he didn't then he was no better than everyone else who thought Malik was a cripple or a leper. Altaïr's earlier words would have been considered empty. He wanted Malik's trust so badly, his trust and his forgiveness. He just could not bring himself to ask for either.

His eyes locked onto Malik's dark brown ones as he came to sit close facing Malik's left stump of an arm. The glare he got from Malik was daring him to touch it. He broke the eye lock and focused on his own hands while removing his fingerless gloves. He raised his hands and slowly placed one on the front of Malik's left shoulder and one on the back. He was surprised at how tense Malik was. His eyes thoroughly explored the sight of the arm that had been cut just above the elbow. He let his hand flow smoothly across Malik's back then back to the shoulder. He paused glancing at Malik to be sure this was still ok and wanted. Malik did not yell at him to bugger off. Malik said nothing. So Altaïr felt the front pectoral muscles and down the severed arm, feeling the muscles there that he had not expected.

The stump had the same smooth texture and complexion as the rest of Malik's skin. The scarring on the bottom was tough and shades of white and pink and tan. As his hand on Malik's back rubbed again across the tense shoulder blades, they began to shake. Altaïr had to swallow several times as he knew Malik was struggling not to sob... and was failing. It inflated Altaïr's sense of guilt. He awkwardly drew Malik in to lean that stump into his chest and soon found Malik sobbing onto his shoulder. Altaïr didn't know what to do. Malik had never been the one to break down. Malik was the one he leaned on.

"Malik? I... I need to tell you something. It's... important."

* * *

A/N #2 – no art...


	46. Chapter 46: Malik's Arm

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – and out wiggles a secret... guilt is a powerful beast.

* * *

Altaïr awkwardly drew Malik in to lean that stump into his chest and soon found Malik sobbing onto his shoulder. Altaïr didn't know what to do. Malik had never been the one to break down. Malik was the one he leaned on.

"Malik? I... I need to tell you something. It's... important."

He really didn't expect Altaïr to touch him, even though he demanded him to. No one had touched him since the doctors had cut that arm from him. The sensation of gentle caressing, the feel of being touched on bare skin, then the comforting rub across his back. It was as if a floodgate had opened. Malik covered his face with his hand as the unbidden sobs forced their way to the surface. Then he found himself in strong arms as he was racked by those sobs.

Altaïr's words only came when he was able to breathe easier. A mix of humiliation and relief replaced the feelings of overwhelmedness earlier. He wanted to shove Altaïr away and at the same time wanted to hold onto him and not let go. Altaïr's words filled him suddenly with dread. Also, somewhere the tiniest flutter of hope, but he refused to acknowledge that.

Malik pinched at his eyes and scrubbed his face with his hand to try to reclaim an ounce of control. He leaned away from Altaïr, regretting giving up that place of comfort. He was surprised to find Altaïr's kept a hand on his back anyways. There was shame in Altaïr's eyes and Malik wondered what now.

"I... should have tried harder." Malik had no idea what Altaïr was talking about. "They were doctors, but not as good as Faruq. I didn't think it was bad enough to need to be cut off. It wasn't even infected till they practically left you to rot. I sent the care-takers off to needing doctors when I checked on you." Malik's stomach felt full of stones. "They hadn't fed you or bathed you or rebandaged you in like two days. So I swore I would kill anyone who came in the room. I wasn't sure what to do to help you. You were fevered so bad." Altaïr could not meet Malik's eyes in his odd confession. "I stayed for a week washing you, feeding you, trying where they were not. Then the Master ordered me away and I... had to go. At least your fever was gone and you looked like you were healing. I should have fought harder, I should not have let them take it without doing everything they could first."

Malik felt like the room was air tight. He stood and staggered a little as he pulled on his Dai robe. He needed air, he needed... this was... _How? Why?_ He headed out to the main room and into the souk. There he paced a little, splashed his face with water. He spotted Altaïr hovering near the doorway staring at the floor. I couldn't recall the man who had been at his side day and night, just that it was the same man. He vaguely recalled that man yelling each time someone opened the door. He had spent so long hating Altaïr and never knew, no one ever told him, that it was Altaïr who nursed him to health.

Finally, he could stand it no longer, "WHY? Why did they do it? Why take my arm if they didn't need to? WHY?" But in his gut he suspected. Cripple him and he would not only hate Altaïr, but hate that he could do nothing to hurt him either. No longer a hindrance if he is a cripple. He could be made a Dai and sent far away where he would no longer even know what was going on beyond what little news he received. "Why not just kill me?" But he knew the reason for that, too. So many of the Brothers liked him and if he was killed in Masyaf, there would be too many questions. Sympathy strengthened the blow to Altaïr to further cut Altaïr off from anyone who might see some kind of corruption.

Altaïr had no answers. His lips were tight locking those secrets inside. Maybe he didn't know. Malik suspected Altaïr wouldn't have really realized that. Altaïr was after all a great assassin, but obeyed Al Mualim like a trained puppy. Also, Altaïr was not really well educated. This was deep deceptions and not at all like Altaïr. Malik knew Altaïr to be a simple man of actions, not the long plotting type.

Malik wanted to scream and kill someone... something... no, definitely someone. But who? "Altaïr. There is a traitor in the Order. Someone fairly high sending out the novices and getting them killed and leaking information about the missions, about Al Mualim's missions for you." It was what he had suspected now voiced. But, that means the traitor had been there for a year, maybe longer. Malik paced.

Altaïr grimaced and rubbed his stomach, then turned away.

"Altaïr?"

"I'll be fine..." Malik knew that as Altaïr-speak for 'I hurt so bad I want to die but not worry you.'

* * *

A/N #2 – no art...


	47. Chapter 47: The Old Altair

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Umi is translating this fic into Spanish! OMG!

* * *

Altaïr grimaced and rubbed his stomach, then turned away.

"Altaïr?"

"I'll be fine..." Malik knew that as Altaïr-speak for 'I hurt so bad I want to die but not worry you.'

Altaïr tried to brush Malik off when Malik's hand invaded his face and neck. He didn't want to be touched. Not that he didn't want to be touched, but he felt ill and there were pains stabbing uncomfortably in his belly. Malik ignored his protests and steered him to the back room and back onto the bed mat meant for Malik to sleep on. Altaïr gave up protesting. Malik pulled off the hood and tunic, then lifted Altaïr's shirt to check the stitching of the stab wounds.

After several minutes that were truly too long for Altaïr, Malik left him be while he prepared a hot water bottle. Altaïr had no idea what was wrong with him. It felt like his insides were full of sharp edged rocks trying to tear their way out. It was a mix of annoying and excruciating. The pain he tried to shut out, but by doing so he ended up panting and feeling clammy.

Malik said nothing about the news Altaïr had dropped like a stone wall on him. Nothing beyond the speculations. They were Altaïr's speculations too. Altaïr wanted Malik to say something about the nursing, but he didn't. He just returned the favour and nursed Altaïr in turn.

Malik returned with the hot water bottle, but before putting it to whatever esoteric medical use, he pressed in various places on Altaïr's stomach and abdomen. Altaïr grimaced again and choked out, "What... what is wrong? It will pass, right? Malik?"

Malik's eyes soften as did his voice, "Yes, Altaïr. It will. I'm sorry I thought you were healed enough for solid food." He nestled the hot water bottle wrapped in a towel against Altaïr's abdomen. "This will help ease things."

Altaïr endured the next very uncomfortable few hours till the pain did pass and Malik promised softer food for a couple more days.

"Were you really there the whole time?" Malik asked. "Did you actually hurt anyone?"

Altaïr nodded. Well, he was... and yes, he nearly killed the people who were supposed to be caring for Malik. "You were bad off."

"Do you know why they did it?"

Altaïr was quiet a long while thinking. "I didn't know then." He sorted out his thoughts a little more, "I think they didn't know either. Faruq was already dead from his mission. They maybe figured it was safer. But... But... I think they wanted to make sure you hated me."

"I already hated you plenty." Malik's words were cutting. Altaïr winced. "I hated you before we entered Solomon's Temple. You were arrogant with a total disregard for the Creed and human life, any life not your own or Al Mualim's. Everyone's favourite pet assassin. I already hated you. They didn't need to do anything strengthen my hate, especially after Kadar..."

Altaïr endured this pain too. He deserved it. He took it like so many overdue blows.

"I wish things worked out differently," Malik rested a hand on Altaïr's shoulder. Altaïr flinched unconsciously. "Get some rest. I am going to plan tomorrow. I have to have the Bureau open for other mundane business."

Altaïr watched Malik's back from where he lay. Every one of his muscles rock hard with tension, braced for impacts that never came. He finally murmured, "Me too... I wish things were different too..." He waited a little while then almost invisibly slipped past Malik into the large souk to lay in the moonlight on the many cushions and rugs. He didn't want to be in that private back room. He didn't belong there. Maybe if things had been different. Maybe if they were different people.

* * *

A/N #2 – no art...


	48. Chapter 48: Imperfect Malik

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – The quiet ones are sometimes deep thinkers. And the smart ones are sometimes completely stupid!

* * *

Altaïr almost invisibly slipped past Malik into the large souk to lay in the moonlight on the many cushions and rugs. He didn't want to be in that private back room. He didn't belong there. Maybe if things had been different. Maybe if they were different people.

Malik noticed, but chose not to show that he did. He felt like a poorly fletched arrow flying wildly. It was a rough day... for them both. He didn't want to push for anything more, even though he was burning with questions for Altaïr. If he wanted answers, he had to take it slow. Already, he had some answers to some of the burning questions. And now, he wasn't sure he ever wanted those answers.

Altaïr... it had been Altaïr all this time that was by his side. He couldn't understand why. Altaïr had been standoff-ish, rude, and arrogant, all those things Malik said he was. Yet, why fight to make sure he healed? Why stay and tend him himself? They were hardly friends after the first 'special mission' that brought Adha into Altaïr's life.

And of course there was the realization of a leak, a spy, a traitor well placed in the brotherhood. Malik had a sinking feeling that it might actually be Al Mualim. His gut had already guided him o lie and hide a boy. That boy was so like Altaïr as a boy, fearless and curious and quick to smile. Altaïr never really smiled now, even as he grew older he had smil4ed less and less. His 'special training' with the great grand master of the order had hardened him. Malik had always suspected that Al Mualim had done cruel acts to Altaïr to toughen him. The beatings as punishment had left Altaïr scarred. True, Altaïr had well deserved some of those, but many made Malik question. They had made Faruq question too. Malik was sure now that he had seen Al Mualim push Altaïr off that wall in a training session.

The questions remained, though. Why do it? Why push so hard? Why test Altaïr's limits? Was it for a noble end? Was it really to hone Altaïr for this? To be the assassin no one else could be and take down the men no one could take down? What did Altaïr know of all this? He must suspect or he would never have written that note. Malik peaked into the souk. Altaïr seemed asleep facing the wall.

Malik draped his black Dai robe over Altaïr. He dipped into the back room for a long sleeved shirt for himself and a blanket that he also draped over the sleeping assassin. _What is it that you know? What have you seen? What secrets are you hiding? Why... why are you so afraid?_ Malik worried quietly.

Altaïr slept on so exhausted from the events of the day. Malik reminded himself that in many ways, Altaïr was 'special' and any man as wounded as Altaïr had been should be dead or at least in a long recovery. Altaïr may have been arrogant and behaved like he was a god before, but Malik somehow knew that Altaïr really did not realize just how 'special' he was. It made sense that Al Mualim would want to train him differently and make him into the best killer. But Altaïr still needed down time. He was not a god. While he was good at hiding or ignoring his body's needs, the needs were still there. He needed deep and long sleep to heal. He needed a higher protein diet. He needed other things, but Malik was not sure what those were. He did not think Altaïr was insane, confused likely, uncertain, maybe even scared. Right now though, Altaïr was wounded and needed rest and healing. Today, was anything but those. Malik left him to sleep.

The next couple days were quiet. They almost tiptoed around each other. Altaïr would not meet Malik's eyes, but obeyed anything Malik asked of him without question. Malik wondered what in all the many things that happened a couple day, which of those made Altaïr behave this introverted. In the evenings, Altaïr was struggling with writing in the journal in the souk. In the days, he stayed in the back or sometimes in the shade on the roof.

Sometimes Malik joined him. Malik brought out one of the many books he was reading on either history, philosophy, or medicine. He especially puzzled through a text from a Chinaman from the Silk Road. It showed the human body with meridian lines and lots of Chinese writing. That was a language Malik was less familiar with. There was a sort of comfort to just have Altaïr there, silent as he was being, he was company. Malik even tried to engage Altaïr a little by reading bits out loud from his books. Altaïr listened, but never spoke back, never voiced his opinions. He'd just frown or tilt his head thinking and then close his eyes and seem like he was ignoring.

It caught Malik completely off guard when Altaïr corrected something Malik said. Malik was fumbling through the Chinese language of this book when Altaïr repeated the phrase more correctly first in Chinese then in two other languages that Malik readily understood. "Altaïr? How... where did you learn? How do you know this?"

To Malik's frustration, Altaïr shrugged. Altaïr finally spoke with a dark annoyed expression, "Just because reading and writing are hard for me, does not mean I am stupid." It was not spoken harshly, more like a warning reprimand or a confession of being insulted and hurt. Malik watched Altaïr walk away, back inside. Although, he had left his journal and the writing tools behind. Malik cleaned the quill and corked the ink. He hadn't claimed that Altaïr was stupid, didn't even really think he was, ignorant and uneducated, but not stupid, even if he teased about it. Then Malik realized that maybe, just maybe his teasing was not being taken as such. That his words were taken as believed fact. That his words... hurt. Malik made mental note to mind his words with Altaïr, before he potentially drove him away. It was just hard sometimes because Altaïr always managed to say and do things that angered Malik... like keeping secrets.

Malik collected the books and journal and other things from the roof and headed inside. He wanted answers.

* * *

A/N #2 – no art...


	49. Chapter 49: Altair meets Tibah

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Weehee! Tibah! SURPRISE!

* * *

Malik made mental note to mind his words with Altaïr, before he potentially drove him away. It was just hard sometimes because Altaïr always managed to say and do things that angered Malik... like keeping secrets.

Malik collected the books and journal and other things from the roof and headed inside. He wanted answers.

Altaïr was determined to pointedly ignore Malik today as opposed to quietly sharing space with him. He liked sharing the quiet space. He liked hearing Malik recite verses or tidbits from the books he was reading. Altaïr did not like being treated like an idiot. This whole rest and heal in Malik's presence was hard. He kept trying to word a formal apology and couldn't. He tried in everything that he did to show he was sorry, to help Malik in any way he could even though he was injured. He was almost healed. He practiced the writing in the journal, too. That was also hard. Altaïr worried again and again about who might find and read it. He worried what Malik might think if he read it.

Right now, he was angry at Malik. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to run and jump and leap off high places, fly! He felt trapped in here and dared not leave because he wanted Malik's trust so badly and it came with the promise to stay till he was done healing, a designated twenty days. He couldn't even recall the first six or seven. But the last few made him wonder where he stood. Were they friends? Or were they just a means to an end for each other? Did Malik even care?

Altaïr knew how much he cared. It was ruinous how much he cared. Their failed friendship was a result of how much he cared. He spent years pushing Malik away, keeping him out of Al Mualim's eye so Malik would not get dragged into any of the strange missions Altaïr went on. Malik had ideals, morals, that Altaïr never wanted to see stained with the things Al Mualim had asked him to do. Altaïr knew he was a killer, more killer than assassin. Then Adha had come along...

Altaïr tried to banish Adha from his mind. She had been beautiful, intelligent, engaging. She seemed to understand Altaïr the way Malik sometimes did. She just seemed to know things. She was the key to finding one of those treasures. She was the treasure AL Mualim sought. She was the Chalice. And she was gone. Templars stole her across the waters. Altaïr liked her. He bedded her. He was going to marry her as per Al Mualim's arrangement. She knew Altaïr was not stupid and never treated him like he was. But Altaïr felt stupid around her, more so when he watched the boat sail away with her. She didn't seem to have been fighting. Maybe she felt trapped in Masyaf and she was running away? Everyone ran away from Altaïr. Everyone he cared for left him or hurt him and left him.

He didn't realize he was pacing as trench in the back room till Malik stood in front of him forcing him to stop. They glared at each other. Altaïr had planned to bathe and try to nap through the heat, but was pacing in just his pants. Malik pressed his hand on Altaïr's bandaged chest. "Tell me what you know, Altaïr. What is going on? You have been keeping secrets from me since we were children in training."

This spirals fast out of control. Within moments they were yelling and spitting insults at each other. They hollered about betrayals and secrets and false trust. It fast degenerated as arguments often do to the ridiculous and yet not. They tore at each other's egos and spat about each other's poor sexual habits. "Maybe you just need a good woman! Because obviously I am not good enough and no one ever really will be for you!" Spat Altaïr as he flung the fake wall curtain aside and stepped into the main Bureau. Frazzled, he stood behind the counter, pants sagging off his hip, fists clenched.

A young woman cleared her throat politely from the other side.

Altaïr's cheeks splashed crimson that blotched its way down his neck and chest and made his body hair seem blond by comparison. "Malik?" Altaïr called as he hitched his pants better and tightened the ties, abandoning the idea of bathing now.

Malik flung the curtain aside and stormed out to yell more at Altaïr only to nearly trip at the sight before him and the frantic mental check and chastisement for not remembering to lock the front door. Altaïr side glanced him and felt much better and less alone in this embarrassment to see Malik too was splashed crimson across his cheeks. Sadly, Malik recovered better, "Miss Tibah..." Malik turned to Altaïr and quietly orders, "get in the back and stay there. This is not over."

Altaïr shoved past him into the back. He hoped he suitably shocked Malik's pretty little client. It was good punishment for Malik. Altaïr growled lots to himself and took over Malik's bed mat for good measure, feeling very vindictive at the moment. He rolled over facing the wall.

* * *

A/N #2 – no art...


	50. Chapter 50: Tibah's Request of Malik

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Riding public transit one hour into town and an hour back gives me plenty of time to write fanfiction. Thus the last two chapters that came out when I got home. All I can say about the last chapter and this one... is... AWKWARD! OMG AWKWARD!

* * *

Malik recovered better, "Miss Tibah..." Malik turned to Altaïr and quietly ordered, "Get in the back and stay there. This is not over."

Altaïr shoved past him into the back. He hoped he suitably shocked Malik's pretty little client. It was good punishment for Malik. Altaïr growled lots to himself and took over Malik's bed mat for good measure, feeling very vindictive at the moment. He rolled over facing the wall.

Malik was left in the main room with Tibah.

He wondered what she had overheard. He wondered what she saw and thought. On second thought, no... he really didn't want to know. Her eyes had followed the half naked Altaïr into the back and that alone made him want to kill Altaïr. _Why must every girl look at him like that?_ He chose to diffuse it as best he can. "Some guards are not very good at letting themselves be healed. I apologize for what you witnessed."

Tibah smiles and tucked her veil under her chin. "Oh, that's alright. I do have brothers, rafiq. And honestly, they can be downright ornery when they have to sit still and get healed." She approached the counter. "I see that maybe the dream I had was not so wrong after all. I suspect you will need more doctoring supplies. Did what I sent you work out alright?" She bit her lip hopefully.

Malik nodded and leaned his elbow on the counter wondering just how she knew what she did about his medical practices and about needed more supplies now. "Yes, the gut threading is amazing and as i read it absorbs into the body so can..."

"Can be used for stitching internally," she finished for him, ever so proud of her own research. "I tested it on cat last month. And the curved needles?" She rocked in her toes, hands clasped behind her back to hide her eagerness that showed in every other fiber of her being.

"I can't find anything on them. But I did use them. It made stitching some things much easier, all things considered." He was referring to being rendered one-handed and not having the benefit of a second hand for stitching.

Tibah grinned broadly. "Oh... you won't find anything from doctors on those. They are my very own idea! I saw my sister using one to fix a pillow that got torn and thought how brilliant that might be for sewing someone who was hurt."

Malik was impressed with her innovation. He made mental note to write a new medical text later on the use of curved needles in surgery.

"So, I see you have been using what I sent and he looks very stitched in lots of places. I won't ask from what6 or how. That is none of my business. But do you maybe need more supplies?" The tone of her voice lilted up with hopefulness. "The angel said you would."

"Miss Tibah... angel? I didn't think you were Christian."

"Yes, the angel. I said I had a dream," she began to explain. "It was a little while ago, but it recurred so I thought maybe it was an important message from Allah. Allah can use any kind of messenger I suppose. So, I dreamed about this angel who told me that you had a very very wounded eagle you needed to heal. That healing this wounded eagle was going to use many of the supplies I sent you and that I should come by and make sure you have enough for next time since the eagle was in grave danger all the time and you were the only one who would or could heal such a dangerous creature. Have you ever healed an eagle before? I see them all the time, but my father says they can tear off your fingers and face if you get close."

Malik felt a little like he swallowed a gecko lizard whole. This girl may not understand the truth behind the metaphor she dreamed, but Malik did. Altaïr was the eagle, that was his name. And everything this girl said was exactly what was happening. "Who... who told you these things?" Malik thought his words sounded squeaky, but he needed to know.

"The angel," Tibah repeated as if Malik missed hearing the obvious. "There was this angel in my dream. He was a beautiful man. I know men aren't really supposed to be called beautiful, but this one was. Not handsome like your friend there or like you, but beautiful, almost pretty like a girl. And he had huge fluffy feather wings. One was white like jasmine flowers and the other was charcoal grey."

Malik stumbled almost off the edge of the counter and stood upright. He had seen the same thing in the alley when he found Altaïr after the drunken stabbing. He thought it was a trick of the light.

"Anyways, I am here now. Do you need anything restocked? I don't want to take too long. My brother is being very..."she rolled her eyes, "overprotective right now. He wants to get home soon."

Malik reigned in the fragments of his thoughts to focus on the here and now. "Miss Tibah, these are very difficult supplies, very expensive. I don't even know how you knew I would need them."

There was that devious womanly smile Malik really disliked. It was the one that said that you made a big mistake and the woman knew it. "Rafiq, you have asked for some supplies from our apothecary that we have only ever sold to the most skilled doctors or to the hospitalier in Acre before it was shut down. It was simply a matter of deducing that if you used those medicines, then you must do many other thing. You are so knowledgeable. I bet you are an amazing doctor even if you practice only in secret. I am sure most people would not want to be tre4ated by you because of your accident leaving you with one arm. But that doesn't mean you still don't know how and doesn't mean you stopped practicing, even if you are scribing and making pretty maps now."

Malik knew for sure now that he needed to be much more careful with what he got from where and how. Also, if Al Mualim knew this girl had sorted this much out, she could end up leading people right to the brotherhood by accident. The rules would dictate having her assassinated. But at the same time she was an innocent. It was a flaw in the Creed. Unless... Unless she married one of the brotherhood. That would solve this neatly.

"Miss Tibah, I need to know. What is it you want in return?"

Malik hated how she lengthened the pause and glanced back at the door where her impatient brother, the family guard, waited. She places her hands on his counter and already he felt violated. He felt like prey. "I want... Please consider it. I am smart. I can read and write unlike most girls. I learn fast. I will be sure to clean up after you. Please oh please rafiq."

"Tibah?"

"Take me on as your apprentice? I want to be a doctor."

Malik was not sure if he was relieved or not. A doctor. She wanted to be a doctor. He stifled a chuckle that threatened to embarrass him, "Tibah. I am not a doctor. I dabble, but that it all. Being a doctor is highly inappropriate for a girl. There is... blood... and nudity... and many other things you just should not be privy to."

Tibah pleaded desperately. "But no one will ever take me. No doctor would ever consider training a girl for those reason. But I am not scared of blood or guys, or puss, or feces or anything else. I have seen it in animals. Please? Pleeeaase?"

"Your father would not approve of this."

"He's in Acre right now. And... and he really likes you."

"No... by Allah Tibah, I thought I was going to have to deal with a marriage request... not this."

She looked down a moment then determinedly at him again. "I would never consider you for marriage, rafiq. You are clearly too much like my brother. I am thus the wrong gender. And... you are much too old for me. But that means you are wise! And know alot! Please, just consider it!"

Altaïr was guffawing in the back room and Malik ground his teeth internally swearing that he was going to make Altaïr pay for this a thousand fold with the only cruel torture that Malik alone knew as a weapon on Altaïr... if he didn't just stab Altaïr to death first.

Malik came around the counter placing his hand on the small of Tibah's back. He guided her forcibly, yet gently to and OUT the door. "I will think about it. I'll speak with your father. But I doubt he will agree." He glanced at the brother with his new knowledge and filed that for later. To the young man he suggested firmly, "Take her home. We are done here today."

He stepped back in and LOCKED the door. "I am not too old," he muttered to himself. His eyes narrowing with fury as he could still hear Altaïr laughing.

* * *

A/N #2 – no art...


	51. Chapter 51: Altair wants to talk

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Glad to hear that Tibah caught you all off guard. She will have more appearances, I promise.

* * *

Malik stepped back in and LOCKED the door. "I am not too old," he muttered to himself. His eyes narrowing with fury as he could still hear Altaïr laughing.

Altaïr was holding his sides from laughing. He never heard Malik enter the back room. He never heard Malik take a book from the shelf. Nor did he head Malik's snarl as he threw that book. But he sure felt the impact! "How... dare!" Malik threw a second book. Altaïr cringed, braced for the impact. Malik was so angry he couldn't even find coherent words. Altaïr thought Malik could never be as angry as when he had returned after Kadar was killed. Altaïr soon realized that if you add jealousy and embarrassment to the pile, Malik can get pretty spitting mad.

A third book larger book hit Altaïr. "Woah! Hey... stop!" A fourth book struck him. "You're damaging your book!" Altaïr heard the hesitation and the fifth book being reshelved.

"Today... I hate you. Go sleep in the souk."

Subdued and ashamed, Altaïr stood and retreated to the souk, "Yes, Malik..."

In the souk, Altaïr flopped onto the sun warmed cushions and carpets. He pondered all the things they yelled at each other. He thought of how Malik reacted with that girl, Tibah. That is when he realized, Malik had never had anyone, not a woman nor a man. _Oops..._ Why did their arguments always have to end up finding the most stupid and yet most painful things to lash at each other. Those became the very next words he wrote in the journal.

Then he wrote about his trip down the Silk Road in search of the Chinese Taoist elixir for longevity and the Chinese tutor who taught him a few other things besides language. That was a whole year immersion in a very foreign world. He was deep in trying to write it in the journal. The sun had set making it impossible to continue. Altaïr crept into the main room to seek out a lamp. He refreshed the incense pot's coal and sniffed all the other little pots for the incense, then added a few pinches.

Altaïr inched into the back room quietly. "Don't speak to me unless you are going to tell me something I really want to hear." Malik didn't bother to look up from the book he was writing in. Altaïr felt like he was standing before Al Mualim, caught in the act of something the Master disapproved of. He stared at his toes. _Why is saying I am sorry so hard?_

After staring at his toes a while longer he came and sat near Malik. "These stitches are itching." Malik put down the book, corked his ink and cleaned his quill. It might not have been what Malik wanted to hear, but Altaïr knew it was at least something that would get Malik to pay him some attention. He was never very good at ignoring Malik, but Malik was exceptional at ignoring him. He didn't want to be ignored. But he still didn't know how to say the things he wanted to.

While Malik inspected and even removed the stitched, Altaïr stayed still and quiet thinking about what the girl had said. How she figured Malik for a lover of other men and how maybe she was right. Also, Altaïr considered what else she about how she figured out Malik. She was too smart for her own good. The Master would definitely have her... removed. "We... maybe we ... should talk." Altaïr wanted that to come out much more smoothly than it did.

Malik slammed down the little scissors he had used to cut the stitches. "Now you decide this? After all this time that I have been trying to get you to? Now you finally conclude that we need to. I just want to hit you!"

Altaïr flinched unconsciously. Malik might as well have hit him.

"So? Altaïr? Talk..."

Now Altaïr had no voice. His lips tightened and he stared into his lap.

"That is exactly what I figured!"

Altaïr winced away. "Malik... Please... stop yelling at me... just... for a little while."

A heavy silence fell between them.

* * *

A/N #2 – no art...

A/N #3 – So... what would you all like to know? If Altaïr were to reveal some deep dark secret... just one... what would you want to hear?


	52. Chapter 52: Malik & Altair Talk

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Secrets... some of the smaller ones, though that could be arguable.

* * *

Altaïr winced away. "Malik... Please... stop yelling at me... just... for a little while."

A heavy silence fell between them.

Malik hated when Altaïr flinched untrusting. It made Malik feeling like one of those husbands that beat their wives. A master assassin like Altaïr never flinches, not at anyone or anything, except Al Mualim... and Malik. It was more apparent when he reached his hand out to reassure Altaïr and again Altaïr flinched from him. "You have this knack, Altaïr, for making me angry, but... not always or even really at you. It drives me crazy not knowing whatever it is you are hiding. And I know it is a lot."

"There is so much," Altaïr confessed. "I don't know where to begin... Malik? Have you never married?"

This was a bit odd and extremely personal for Malik, especially since Tibah had been too right. "No, I am picky and Al Mualim had not seen fit to arrange a marriage for me. You though have been married twice." He tried not to sound angry or jealous, but started to recognize those feelings sneaking around the surface.

"I only married once," Altaïr corrected. "I never got to marry Adha. They took her across the waters to the English Isles, before I could."

Malik looked ashamed as Altaïr's sadness was clear. "You loved her, didn't you?"

"No, but I liked her a fair deal. She was nice, smart, not afraid of me... in many ways, she was like... like you." Malik did not expect that response at all, nor the blush that warmed his cheeks. "I was supposed to marry her when we returned from that mission. And before you ask, yes we slept together, but only once. I was... lonely... and one thing just lead to another."

Malik fought the questions that wanted to push Altaïr for more about that mission. He stayed silent to listen, Altaïr was actually talking to him. He had to ask though, "What was that mission? We still have people searching for her. Why is she so important?"

"The Master thinks she knew where to find a treasure called the Chalice. She had said she knew it and would guide me to it. On the way, she told me things... things about Those Who Came Before and that it was why I was... different. She said she was different too. She... taught me things..."

Malik had read some things about Those Who Came Before. Discovered them in the library while looking to understand why Altaïr was so different. So, Al Mualim was hunting sacred treasures even back then, maybe longer. Maybe Malik was right and AL Mualim was training Altaïr to be this hunter. Maybe Al Mualim knew Altaïr was different right from the start. Malik almost asked another question, but Altaïr continued speaking.

"Adha explained that the Chalice was a sacred vessel, like something to hold the blood of Christ, or life-giving water. Malik, Adha was never guiding me to the Chalice."

Malik, even though he liked hearing his name instead of his title, frowned, "But you said you lost it."

"I did. Can I really trust you not to tell the Master?"

Malik hated that Altaïr called Al Mualim Master. It twisted in his gut somehow, always did. "I will keep your secrets, Altaïr. I swear."

"Adha... WAS the Chalice. Her name is Adha Calisse. I didn't realize till she was taken and the Templar yelled back to me a thank you for the Sacred Chalice. I didn't understand when she was explaining the Chalice to me, but... What's more sacred a chalice than the womb of life, the womb of a woman who was... special or different? I don't think she was stolen either, but I only realized this recently. I think she was running. Something had her scared or trapped. I can understand... I can't bear feeling caged or trapped either. I'd run too."

Malik's mouth dropped. Adha... a woman... was a sacred treasure. It made sense. It really did. So did Altaïr's logic for running away. All Malik could think of now was how he had been making Altaïr feel... caged and trapped. No wonder Altaïr kept bolting from him. It also dawned on him that Altaïr had felt lonely, admitted it. He never thought Altaïr would feel lonely being the center of attention and Al Mualim's pet.

Since they were on the subject of women, Malik dared, "And Nina?"

"Nina... I hated her. I really ... we really disliked each other. She was smart too, and dangerous. She wanted to be an assassin. She was like sleeping with a viper. I married her because it was arranged. I was told to charm her and bed her, so I did. The Master never wanted her trained. She was punishment... punishment for losing Adha."

Malik pursed his lips wondering if he should not tell Altaïr what he knew of Nina. He opted to share half of what he knew. No need to tell Altaïr of the unborn child. It would only unnecessarily upset Altaïr, since he knew Altaïr badly wanted a child, always did. "We are still looking for her too. She knows too much about us, if the Templars get hold of her..."

"It has been a whole year," protested Altaïr, "More for Adha. They are both gone. Adha cannot be retrieved. And honestly? Nina? How the hell could a woman survive with nothing in this world? She's probably dead. Good riddance."

Malik knew better. There would not be a standing hunt for her if Al Mualim thought she was dead. Malik knew it was not Nina that Al Mualim would want. If it is true that Al Mualim knows what Altaïr is (whatever Altaïr is), then Al Mualim would be after the child. Raise one from a babe and then you avoid the problems that Altaïr has caused. He didn't mention any of this to Altaïr. He wasn't sure enough to say anything. Al Mualim is the grand master of the Order. He must have his reasons. Malik wondered if Altaïr knew the reasons behind these insane hunts for sacred treasures and these near impossible assassination.

The silence grew between them again for a little while. Malik prepared some food, things he felt Altaïr was ready to eat. Malik wanted to mush the food in Altaïr's face when Altaïr spoke, "That Tibah girl... she'd be good to marry."

Malik snapped without even thinking, "Then YOU marry her."

"If you are too old for her, then so am I. What I was trying to get at... well... she knows an awful lot about you, and obviously about this back room. She's a liability to the Brotherhood." Altaïr was calculating already the problems a smart girl like Tibah would be and the dangers she represented.

"Don't you DARE tell Al Mualim. She is an innocent, Altaïr. You leave her be."

Altaïr poked his food disinterestedly. "I'm just saying, she poses a threat, if she spoke to a Templar, or to someone who knew one... Marrying her would save her from what would only be the destined fate if..."

"IF Al Mualim knew about her. Which he WON'T... I'll deal with her... somehow..." Malik did not like this thinking, but he knew, he understood. If she spoke to someone, anyone, Templars could be all over this Bureau, or worse. They ate in silence, both deep in thought.

"Altaïr, open the other bed mat and sleep in here." It came out like a command, but he didn't mean it that way. Malik tried to change how it sounded, "Unless, unless you would rather sleep in the souk." Leaving Altaïr with the choice would shed light on if Altaïr trusted Malik, at least a little. He found himself hoping more than he expected, really hoping Altaïr would sleep in this room. He also found himself hating Tibah a little for having so bluntly laid out his sexual preferences. That was all Altaïr's fault. And yet, his hope remained.

* * *

A/N #2 – no art...


	53. Chapter 53: Altair Chooses

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – YAOI bits, you are warned. Also, some secrets revealed... kinda...

* * *

"Altaïr, open the other bed mat and sleep in here." It came out like a command, but he didn't mean it that way. Malik tried to change how it sounded, "Unless, unless you would rather sleep in the souk." Leaving Altaïr with the choice would shed light on if Altaïr trusted Malik, at least a little. He found himself hoping more than he expected, really hoping Altaïr would sleep in this room. He also found himself hating Tibah a little for having so bluntly laid out his sexual preferences. That was all Altaïr's fault. And yet, his hope remained.

Altaïr rose to his feet and was about to do as he was told. Then he paused. He turned back to Malik unsure if he really heard what he did. He was being given a choice? Malik gave him a choice? Altaïr wasn't sure what the plan was, if Malik was plotting something. Malik was always testing him, wasn't he? This must be another test of trust. He studied Malik trying to puzzle out the intentions.

Malik almost seemed to shy away, a bashfulness Altaïr did not recognize. Maybe Malik meant it. Maybe Malik really was letting him choose freely. It was what he had always liked about Malik when they were young. Altaïr got to make some of the decision. He got to choose his own path. Malik was his link to a sense of freedom he did not have within the brotherhood under the Master's watchful seemingly almost all seeing eye. Well, there was this one time...

Altaïr's eyes slid over Malik a moment before he stepped out of the back room into the main room. He heard Malik's disappointed sigh but kept walking into the souk. He sat upon the cushions under the starry sky that could be seen through the lattice over the open souk. He thought about that freedom. He thought about that one time they, he and Malik, gave the Master the slip. That was a moment of total intoxicating freedom. It was like flying, like leaping from an eagle point. Malik didn't even come out after Altaïr. He decided to relax there for a little bit and absorb himself in that one exquisite memory of escaping the Master.

_They managed to sneak around the corner of a building, stifling their nervous excitement. Al Mualim was always sharp, but this time he was distracted by some news he had received and showed up just a few minutes late. Altaïr convinced Malik to sneak off with him, at least this far. _

_Altaïr brushed his fingers into Malik's hood to expose his ear so he could whisper into it. "Let's run away, just us, just for a little while. I want to just be with you, Malik." Malik pulled Altaïr closer to be sure they were not scene. _

_Al Mualim yelled from the stairway, "Altaïr! Maliiik! You will regret if you do not take the swimming lesson!"_

_Altaïr could feel Malik's breath short and fast debating the choice. "Please Malik. Let it be my choice. I'll take the heat for it. It will be so worth it. Besides, Faruq will teach swimming later." Altaïr lips tickled the soft teen stubble along Malik's jaw as he spoke. When he nodded, he could feel Altaïr grin, they were so close._

_As soon as they heard the click of Al Mualim's cane receding, they were OFF! The ran through the alleys and over the buildings. They leapt off ledges with their arms spread like eagle wings in flight. They raced to their favoured ledge and dove carefree... into their secret pile of hay. There they laughed about their victory. There their fingers intertwined. There... their lips met._

Altaïr opened his journal and tried to write the scene into it as best he could. **Freedom is worth the punishment.**

_There was definitely a punishment from the Master for avoiding him. Altaïr took the full blame. He stood with his head hung before the Master. Kadar shielded his eyes from the sun with his hood as he watched his idol endure the reprimand. Malik had argued with Altaïr about who would take the punishment. His cheeks burned in frustration and humiliation, watching Al Mualim tear verbal strips off of Altaïr. The assassin glued his eyes to the ground in knowing this was just the beginning of the punishment. This was just for show. The real punishment would be later. It would be punishment to remind Altaïr who was in charge, who gave the orders, and who was supposed to obey them._

Altaïr fumbled as he wrote this too into his journal. Then he detailed the punishment, explaining why he tried to keep Malik out of the various things that involved the Master. This was not the note Altaïr wanted to be left on. Also, he was cold... so he made a new decision.

He packed his journal and brought it with him as he snuck back into the private sleeping room. Malik was just finishing cleaning the dinner dishes by the lamplight. "You... came back..." Malik sounded so surprised.

"I was cold."

Malik narrowed his eyes and Altaïr knew that Malik was trying to decide if Altaïr was joking or not. He must have concluded Altaïr was serious. He found Altaïr a blanket. "You were laughing at me over the whole Tibah thing before. I know I was mad... but it was good to hear you laugh again."

Altaïr unrolled the extra bed mat as Malik got comfortable on his own. Altaïr felt himself being intensely watched. "Are you ever really lonely?" asked Altaïr like he was asking something taboo.

"All the time. Does it look like I share space with people regularly?" It was a confession, if a bit biting.

Altaïr shoved his bed mat right up against Malik's so they would be side by side. "Me too," Altaïr confessed in turn. He stretched out on the spare bed mat facing Malik. He took a deep slow breath and let his eyes unfocus a moment.

"What are you doing?" Malik asked having never seen Altaïr behave like he was doing some kind of meditative breathing.

"You... are bright blue." Altaïr wanted to confirm it. He wanted to know that what he once saw was still a fact. It was reassuring.

"What? What are you talking about?" Malik was clearly confused.

Altaïr blinked a couple times and refocused. "Adha taught me to do something. It... it will sound crazy. But, I can see people in colors... like glowing shining colors. I've practiced it when I have stood in good lookout places. It also happens unbidden when I fight. Innocent people shine white. Friendly people shine bright blue. Enemies and those who intend me harm glow and angry red. Targeted people, those I am seeking, are glowing yellow... You... shine bright blue. So... I ... I can trust you." He tucked his right arm under his head to watch Malik with his golden eyes.

Did Malik believe him? Did Malik think he was crazy, insane? Altaïr worried, or tried not to worry. Malik's dark eyes seemed to be searching Altaïr's. It was interesting how Malik tucked his stump under his head to be comfortable as though there was a whole arm there. If they were boys again, Malik would have pulled Altaïr close to cuddle and sleep in order to keep the nightmares away. Altaïr knew that would not happen. But this... this was still nice. He closed his eyes to sleep and felt Malik's fingers almost shyly move through his hair. Altaïr tensed a little, but did not flinch this time. He wanted to move closer to Malik and hold him and be held by him, but didn't think that would be... appropriate anymore. This will do though. This will do.

* * *

A/N #2 – art... art... and MORE art! You know the drill, take out the spaces.

http:/ doubleleaf .deviantart .com/art/YAOI-AltMal-skipping-class-146457491

http:/ the-evil-legacy .deviantart .com/art/AC-punition-150279886


	54. Chapter 54: Malik Caught

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – puzzling things out... and ah... youth... so annoying! *wink*

* * *

If they were boys again, Malik would have pulled Altaïr close to cuddle and sleep in order to keep the nightmares away. Altaïr knew that would not happen. But this... this was still nice. He closed his eyes to sleep and felt Malik's fingers almost shyly move through his hair. Altaïr tensed a little, but did not flinch this time. He wanted to move closer to Malik and hold him and be held by him, but didn't think that would be... appropriate anymore. This will do though. This will do.

Malik felt abandoned for the first time in his life when Altaïr had walked out. He had given him the choice and he left. He felt... he didn't want to admit it, but he felt rejected. Why did Tibah have to be so right? And what did she mean by he was like her brother? Was she suggesting that her brother the guard preferred boys to girls? Malik could not say men, because the brother was barely a year older than Tibah. He supposed that constituted a grown man... with peach fuzz for chin hair.

But Altaïr returned after several hours, journal in hand. In a way Malik was deeply relieved. Altaïr just needed to add to the journal in private. Malik could respect that. The cold comment, well, he still didn't know if Altaïr was joking. He wanted to see that smile on Altaïr's face or hear him laugh... when it was not at Malik's expense.

It was a relief to tell someone he was lonely, and to know that Altaïr was equally so. They didn't have to be lonely. That was Altaïr's message in shoving the bed mats together. The next words from Altaïr made him think too much about how different Altaïr was. These odd abilities reminded him of myths he had read of great heroes. Altaïr? A great hero? That was a little hard to swallow. Seeing colors was so strange. _I am bright blue... to him it means a friend... someone that can be trusted. If that is how Allah will remind you, so be it. _He hesitated only a moment. He didn't think he should do this while Altaïr was awake and aware. But then his hand betrayed him and did it anyways. His fingers found their way into Altaïr's hair with those golden eyes watching him.

Malik was woken a couple times in the night by Altaïr's thrashing, but found he could ease Altaïr back into sleep. There was a modicum of trust there now. Altaïr did not jump at the sound of his voice, nor did he attack like Malik was the enemy. In the morning, he woke to Altaïr snuggled in close to him shivering slightly as the blanket had been lost in the last fitfulness. Malik sat up and pulled the blankets, both his and Altaïr, to cover Altaïr before he vacated the spot on his bed. Altaïr mumbled something and inched drowsily into Malik's warmed spot.

Malik wondered how long this quiet would last. The doctor in him could logically deduce that the fights between him and Altaïr were just them needing to work out what was between them till it eventually was out of them and sorted... and forgiven. Not that Altaïr would EVER say he was sorry! Not that any amount of saying sorry would bring Kadar back. Malik, for all his logic, could not help being upset about the past with Altaïr there to remind him of it.

Then he also could not help thinking about how Altaïr revealed that it was he who was at Malik's side the entire time during the healing of his severed limb. Malik found himself sipping his tea and failing to resist opening Altaïr's journal while the assassin slept. The writing was horrible! He was right, Altaïr desperately needed the practice. Altaïr couldn't even write a single sentence using the same language. It had words and scripts mixed together to form fragments of sentences. It was like reading code. Messy almost illiterate code. Malik wondered if Altaïr thought in these chaotic codex forms. It would certainly account for Altaïr being confused all the time. There were even words in languages that Malik was not very familiar with. This would take too long to decipher. He flipped through the pages and stopped at the word elixir. That part he read more carefully. It explained why Altaïr knew Chinese. How did he pick it up so fast though? Was Altaïr a natural at understanding what he overheard in foreign languages? Just apparently writing them was not his forte. Nope, this was going to take too much time and Altaïr would wake soon.

Malik set the book down and stiffened. Altaïr's sharp golden eyes had been watching him for who knew how long. Malik had never really been the kind to snoop. Malik had to reconsider that, he was not the kind to snoop where he would remotely get caught. He was never caught snooping through forbidden sections of the library in Masyaf. He opened his mouth searching for the words to explain himself and not finding them.

Altaïr sat up and patted his shoulder, "I was hoping you would read it. Maybe it will make sense to you." Malik watched Altaïr slip through to the little kitchen to use the privy. Malik awkwardly set the journal down on the bed mat. He dressed and was about to make some breakfast for them both when two unskilled thuds were heard in the open souk. Altaïr met him face to face as they exchanged wary looks. "You are badly wounded," Malik hissed to him. "Too wounded to be out of bed."

Altaïr silently dropped himself back onto the bed mat and left the blankets off to expose his bandages and stitched. He dipped his hands into the jug of water nearby and patted his face to look like he was sweating with fever and closed his eyes. Malik nodded approval as he slid a knife into place on his hip and crept cautiously into the main room, just in case it was not others from their Brotherhood.

"Safety and peace rafiq!" called one trainee in uniformed greys. "Safety and peace!" called the second. Malik noted that they were not full assassins yet, they still had all ten fingers and no wrist daggers.

"Safety and peace brothers. What brings you two to Jerusalem?" Malik was almost relieved to see them.

"See," one prodded the other, "He is not such a heartless bastard."

Malik narrowed his eyes at them. "Well? Out with it. Why are you girls here?" he snapped.

The young men cringed to Malik's approval and sputtered, "On mission. We were to find the Bureau in each of the major cities. Acre, Damascus, and Jerusalem and return with proof that we did. Can we uhm... have some proof?"

Malik opened up one of his rolls of maps and poked at it letting the two youths wonder and wait. Without looking up he asked, "What kind of proof were you expected to get?" Then he let them sweat for many long slow minutes while they stressed about not having asked what they were supposed to get from Jerusalem.

"Rest in the souk and wash. You both smell. Maybe once you are clean, you will remember what you are here for."

The two youths concluded that Malik was indeed the heartless bastard they thought he was. They slunk into the souk to strip and wash. At least they had slightly better manners than Altaïr. They asked for basins and towels. Malik allowed one to come with him into the back to retrieve those items. The youth stared at the prone unwell looking Altaïr bandages and resting on a bed mat. "Woah... he is stitched... everywhere..." the youth breathed before Malik shoved him out. That would suit Malik just fine for when these boys babbled back in Masyaf. It would be shocking proof for them. As Malik prepared breakfast for ... four... he overheard them talking about Altaïr and how bandaged he was and how stitched up he was and wondering if he was going to live. Altaïr moaned loudly for good measure and Malik could not help rolling his eyes.

Once cleaned and fed the youths still had no idea what they had to get as proof. Malik solved that himself. "You have to earn your proof from me. Find for me three of the city flags. You may speak to any of the informants for advice. Expect them to test your resolve. Be gone as soon as you are done eating. And don't come back till the sun sets. If you are not here at sunset, I send another assassin after you to kill both you and the Templar you stupidly let catch you. They are hunting us here, so be careful. Sunset!"

They nodded emphatically and wolfed down their food. The longer they ate the less time they had to find three flags from and informant. They scrambled up the fountain and out the roof opening.

Malik sighed with annoyance and took a damp towel to clean the fountain they just dirtied from their scramble. Altaïr never messed the fountain. He was graceful unlike these clumsy colts. Once the front was cleaned to his satisfaction, he returned to Altaïr's side. "The moan was really unnecessary."

Altaïr shrugged. Malik shook his head. "I was going to take out some of those stitched, Altaïr. But now that you did such a wonderful job of making them think you are near death, I will have to leave them in till those trainees are finished their mission. He smirked pleased with himself as Altaïr groaned for real, lamenting his obliged state. "Here, write more. You need the practice." Malik slid the journal and writing supplied over to Altaïr.

"Maybe I should follow them and make sure they are..."

"No, Altaïr. It is their missions, they will succeed or not. And YOU... cannot be spotted. Don't make me think you are still a novice like them!"

Altaïr flumped back onto the bed mat.

* * *

A/N #2 – no art...


	55. Chapter 55: Altair Challenges Malik

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Mmmm... sweating men...

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"No, Altaïr. It is their missions, they will succeed or not. And YOU... cannot be spotted. Don't make me think you are still a novice like them!"

Altaïr flumped back onto the bed mat.

Throughout the day, Altaïr just grew irritable. Malik was busy out in the front room. He was stuck in the back playing "wounded" even though he WAS wounded, he wasn't THAT wounded. He grumbled and snarled through random writing in the journal. Now that he really HAD to stay in the back in the bed he desperately wanted to sneak out onto the roof. The two novices might see him though. He snarled and rolled over shoving the journal aside.

It was the deepest relief to have Malik come back in and make meat sandwiches. Malik even sat to eat with him and read from one of his own journals about things he learned about Those Who Came Before. It wasn't anything really special or anything really new to Altaïr. It was more myth and legend than fact about people who lived in a mythical city that was destroying by either water of volcanic fire. Either way, these people were mostly gone from the world and their city sunk deep in the seas.

All the stitches itched and irritated him. He picked at them and rubbed them. Malik would reach over and smack Altaïr every time without missing a beat in what he was reading, or looking over. Altaïr began to wonder who was different because it was as if Malik had eyes on the side of his head or in the back. "Fine! Stay still. I will take out the ones that are not so visible." Malik's words were like the sweetest music.

Altaïr flopped out spread eagle and relished the mild sense of internal amusement seeing Malik roll his eyes... again. He patiently stayed still and moved only as Malik bade him so that the annoying stitches were neatly snipped and plucked out. What was not so comfortable was Malik feeling along his still black and purple ribs. Bones heal slower than everything else. Malik rubbed a simple salve into all the wounds and over the stitches he was leaving in for show. Then he rebandaged Altaïr's chest.

The blessed sound of the over-eager youths dropping into the souk was followed by their excited voices. Altaïr relaxed back on the bed mat and listened to Malik berate them for their gracelessness and indiscretion. Altaïr grinned at the resounding THUMP the log book made on the counter and the yelps of surprise from the novices. They haltingly recounted their foray to find the flags and produced them proudly in the end. Malik was going to keep one and they each were to keep one of the others. It was like a souvenir they rolled tightly and tucked into their belt pouches. Malik wrote the mission in the log, explaining it to them as he did, along with proper protocol. Since it was only a few hours after noon, they had plenty of time to hurry themselves out of Jerusalem and off to their next city. He warned them about Acre's port and advised them to be especially careful because Acre was Templar owned. Promises were exchanged, along with the usual greeting.

When Malik returned to the back, Altaïr sat up hopeful. "Yes, they are gone now."

Altaïr could not be happier, "Great, get the rest of these out of me." He was plenty fed up of the stitches.

Stitches were all removed by the second day. Altaïr reveled in the feeling. His ribs ached, but he could easily ignore that, not that Malik would let him. Malik had him stretching and retraining those muscles. Malik watched him critically while he grunted through sit-ups and climbed up and down the souk wall maybe a hundred times till he was sweating and wished he could complain about how sore he was. He refused to give in though. In the middle of doing some push-up, he snarled at Malik. "Stop just sitting there and staring. Stop correcting me... you want a right to say something? You come down here and do them with me!"

Altaïr wanted to hit Malik when Malik laughed, "Alright golden boy... let's see who can do more." Altaïr sat and watched as Malik stripped himself down to just his pants like Altaïr. He was a little surprised to see Malik jump on the challenge. It was also refreshing.

They assumed their positions. Altaïr stared somewhat distracted as Malik actually accomplished push-up's one handed at the same pace he was going. Although Altaïr had been pushing himself all day and was already tired. He blamed his failing strength on that while Malik sneered back at him. The sweat dripped off them both. Altaïr had never been bested by Malik and had no intention of that happening now. After about eighty, Altaïr tried to shift to one hand to prove he could... and to give one hand a rest. That failed swiftly and he had to keep at it with both. When the exhaustion shifted to aching then to pain, so did his focus. He wavered a moment then shoved it all aside and kept going.

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A/N #2 – I love doubleleaf... PUSHUPS! http:/ doubleleaf .deviantart .com/art/pushups-160586065


	56. Chapter 56: Malik's Shame YAOI

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Art in retrospect! Those two teen novices were so funny. And after posting the chapter I found a picture!

http:/ echelon-x .deviantart .com/art/NOVICES-xD-158204873

A/N #2 – Pun intended when you find it! Oh... and as the title of the chapter says... YAOI WARNING!

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After about eighty push-ups, Altaïr tried to shift to one hand to prove he could... and to give one hand a rest. That failed swiftly and he had to keep at it with both. When the exhaustion shifted to aching then to pain, so did his focus. He wavered a moment then shoved it all aside and kept going.

There was something so completely and totally satisfying to know he could beat Altaïr at something. Altaïr had always been cocky and arrogant, flaunting how he was the best and could do anything. Malik grinned to himself seeing how Altaïr could not do one-handed push-ups. It required a whole different set of balancing. Malik had been practicing and trying to stay fit, just in case Templars came to the Bureau. He wanted to make sure he could still fight them off and escape.

He wasn't sure he could do the escaping part, but he sure would give them a hell of a fight. He side glanced Altaïr noting the assassin slowing. Malik frowned a little at the changed and determined expression on Altaïr's face. It was the one he showed when he was in pain and ignoring it. Malik sighed internally. He'd have to fake giving in to Altaïr because Altaïr was being a stupid novice and pushing too hard.

Malik lowered himself and then rolled onto his back puffing as though exhausted. He turned his head to see Altaïr do the same after a couple more. Altaïr's breathing was too shallow. Malik sat up and lightly touched over the fading bruises on Altaïr's ribs. The responding wince answered his concern. As much as Altaïr was grumpy because he was feeling much better and being treated like an invalid, Malik and Altaïr fought less over the last couple days. Malik was already sensing that it would soon be time for Altaïr to leave... just... not yet, not quite yet.

Altaïr spent most of the time now writing or training. Like this evening, Malik was pushing him to be back in form. It was his job. He tried to puzzle out some of journal sometimes too, but that would need some private quiet. There were things in there that Malik could understand why Altaïr called it insanity. They never said anything about Tibah, nor brought up each other sexual habits or lack thereof. There were just so many subjects that were off limits in an unspoken way.

Malik prepared a bath for himself, set out salves to help Altaïr's aching muscles and ever set out a basin and towels for Altaïr to wash. He was slowly heating and filling the bath with kettle water when Altaïr came up behind him and took the kettle from him. This was happening more and more. Altaïr was just stepping in and... doing things, helping in a quiet way. Altaïr was still so quiet. Malik still had not really seen him smile. He thought about his cruel little torture... but wanted to only use it as a suitable revenge for... something. Maybe later. Altaïr was bound to do something so incredibly annoying to deserve being tickled to death.

Malik allowed Altaïr to finish heating and filling the bath. Normally Malik would protest that he was perfectly capable of handling this. But he was starting to appreciate the help. And, watching Altaïr fill a bath was puzzling. Altaïr hated the bath, hated most standing bodies of water that were deeper than a couple inches. Maybe it was because Malik was not expecting Altaïr to bathe in the tub?

He tried not to watch Altaïr finish stripping. The scars were still new and stood out on Altaïr's skin. When Malik's eyes drifted into taboo regions, he snapped his head away and focused on his own affairs of stripping and sinking into the bath. Why seeking a naked Altaïr was distracting him, he could not fathom. He'd seen Altaïr naked on and off for nearly twenty days. Thank Allah there were no more rutting in the bed incidents from Altaïr. Malik wasn't sure he could handle that without either killing Altaïr or unthinkably joining him. Malik sunk down under the water to drown the thoughts from his mind.

He was hauled out sputtering by Altaïr whose eyes were wide with near terror. "Altaïr! I am fine! Dammit!"

"But you went under." There was this shake in Altaïr's voice that Malik had rarely heard.

Malik tried to reassure him, "I am fine, really. I was just sinking under to rinse my hair."

Altaïr backed off embarrassed. "I knew that," he muttered retreating.

Malik wondered why Altaïr was so afraid of water. He knew asking would never get him any answers. It never did, not about this. Stepping out, he shook his hair. Altaïr was already sitting on the bed mats mostly dry, back to Malik to prevent another embarrassing incident. Malik tugged on pants loosely and plopped down behind Altaïr with the jar of warming salve. Altaïr peered over his shoulder at Malik. Those golden eyes held his for a few moments before Altaïr turned away again and sat still for Malik to rub the salve in. Malik was grateful in a way for the modesty that his pants provided. His body had chosen now to be beyond rude. He did his best to ignore it, hard as that was.

He stood and came to sit in front of Altaïr to rub the salve in there, knowing the right muscles that would be sore from today's workout. Altaïr had a towel discreetly around his waist, but Malik still noticed the erection. He tried to ignore that too. This was foolish. This was wrong. Several religions condemned people for even thinking this, stoned them to death after a severe beating. At least that was the common punishment here in Jerusalem. If they lived in Greece or some other similar place, things would be different.

Malik could not speak, he dared not even try, even though he desperately wanted something to distract his thoughts than the long overdue urges burning in his loins. He turned away awkwardly, back to Altaïr this time while he fumbled to close the jar. The jar vanished from his hand. He almost turned to see why when he felt Altaïr's hands on his back rubbing in salve to warm his muscles in turn.

Malik tensed with the forbidden touch but soon relaxed under Altaïr's large and surprisingly skilled hands. Altaïr actually always had skilled hands. Malik had only forgotten because it had been so long ago, six maybe seven years. Altaïr even rubbed the stump then down Malik's arm to the hand. Malik swallowed again to try to keep his breath steady. An evil part of him wanted this so badly, even if they hated each other. He had not had anything in so long.

Altaïr's fingers entwined in Malik's and his breath caught at Altaïr's action. It caught again as he felt Altaïr breathe on the back of his neck. He wanted to tell Altaïr to stop. Altaïr's lips pressed against the back of Malik's shoulder. The word 'stop' got sucked back down Malik's throat when he gasped. His finger tightened in Altaïr's. _Traitorous fingers!_ Altaïr's other hand slid slick with salve around Malik's middle. He clenched his abdominal muscles instinctively. Another hot kiss on the back of his shoulder caused Malik to arch slightly, his cheeks flushed with the blood racing through him. Altaïr leaned back against the wall, pulling Malik against his chest, pressing into the small of Malik's back, the towel between them.

Malik wished his pants had been properly tied as they hitched at his hips. Altaïr was as good now with his lips and fingers as he was when they were finishing their training together. It sent tingles and shivers all through Malik. He tried to fight back and sit up, but Altaïr's salve slick hand slid down the front of Malik's pants. Malik gasped, head thrown back. He had tried so hard to ignore these urges for years and now Altaïr was destroying his resolve. Correction, Altaïr destroyed his resolve in one smooth greased grip. Malik forgot everything there was to focus on and abandoned himself to desire. Altaïr knew exactly how to please him, exactly how to hold him, exactly how to run his thumb across the top, exactly how to tighten his grip and when. Malik rode this to oblivion, oblivious paradise.

Only once he was thoroughly sated, thoroughly spent and curled on the bed mat in that muzzy, fuzzy dazed aftershock did the thought and reality creep in. Malik stared as Altaïr cleaned up. The realization... Altaïr did not take his own pleasure in this. Altaïr even avoided Malik's gaze. Malik gritted his teeth in his own shame. "Altaïr... get out. Sleep in the souk."

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A/N #2 – it had to come... cum... come... *wink* here's a pic!

http:/ bfmvlover4life .deviantart .com/art/AltairxMalik2-157417256


	57. Chapter 57: Altair Runs

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Thanks for reviewing. I love to hear from you all.

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Malik stared as Altaïr cleaned up. The realization... Altaïr did not take his own pleasure in this. Altaïr even avoided Malik's gaze. Malik gritted his teeth in his own shame. "Altaïr... get out. Sleep in the souk."

Altaïr was humming in his veins from the pleasure and the comfort of this act that was their secret in their youth. He thought it unfair that Malik not have any release since... who knew when. Altaïr was fairly sure that Malik would not tend himself. So, he helped... as he has helped Malik in other ways over the past few days. He was going to be gone soon and if things went badly, would not be back. He wanted to give this to Malik. It was all he dared. It wouldn't cross any actual barriers.

As he cleaned up after, he felt just a little smug that he had not forgotten just how Malik likes it. He didn't look over because he wanted Malik to just have this moment to himself. To hear Malik snarl after and order him out shocked him. He opened his mouth but was told to leave a second time, more harshly. Frowning, stuck somewhere between angry and hurt, Altaïr grabbed up his clothes and armour and took it all with him to the souk.

_What did I do wrong? I thought he wanted that. He was looking at me, he was touching me. I thought... I thought he liked it. _

His breath came fast and shallow as he fumbled with his clothing in the chill air. His cheeks started to burn with his own shame and embarrassment. If he misread Malik, what if... Altaïr gulped air and forced calm into his breathing at least, even though it was tense still. He heard the words already sliding in deceptively to provide the logic to justify his actions. They were the master's words. Altaïr dropped his sword twice before he realized his hands were shaking too much to hold it.

_What have I done? What have I done to him? Was that no better than the Master has done to me? Allah... am I becoming like him? _

Part of him justified the actions as a gift, an act of kindness and affection. The other part of him saw it as manipulation, an act that should have come with permission and didn't. That made it no better than rape.

The moral questions chained him and confused him and crushed him.

The sun was rising to find Altaïr already on the road toward the rest of the Kingdom. He dropped to his knees gasping for breath, trying to get his bearings. He stood slowly on burning shaking legs and sank to the ground again. _How did I get here? Where... where am I?_ He looked around frantic. Looking back the way he had run, he saw the walls of the city of Jerusalem. Awareness collected his thoughts and assessed his state of being. He had only half his armour and none of his weapons. Logic told him to go back and get them. Humiliation begged him to keep running. How could he dare face Malik now... ever?

_I am such a coward... the great eagle of Masyaf... they are right. I am nothing... nothing worth anything but to be a tool. I can't even hold a simple respect of the simplest forms of the Creed with the only person I actually care about. _

_WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?_

The Master was not there to answer that inner cry. And God, by whatever name, was silent as well.

He let out an anguished yell that set some nearby birds into flight. If he continued on to Masyaf, he would have to have an excuse for not having his armour and weapons. Lying to the Master was impossible. Altaïr weighted his anxiety. Malik... or the Master... Malik or the master. He pushed himself to his feet. They dragged heavily. He forced the feeling aside like he would any other pain and numbly put one foot in front of the other.

An hour later, head hung, feet shuffling, he blended in with a group of monks. He joined their soft prayers wishing they gave him solace but finding them very empty at the moment. The city guards parted to let them pass into Jerusalem. Facing Malik would be one pain. Facing the Master would be too many for it would end up looking bad for Malik or worse, ruin him further. Altaïr was sure he could not live with more of that shame. So facing Malik it will have to be.

He had to stop often on his way back to the Bureau, just to rest. He was so tired and ached way more than he wanted to. It was easier to be numb, but numb made mistakes sometimes. So he alternated between coherent inner and outer pain, and the nothingness of being numb. The heat wavered off the hot stones of the street and buildings. Or was that just his vision in the late afternoon?

The stars winked in the night sky as he staggered across the Brotherhood emblem on the roof of the Bureau. He didn't really notice either. Even in numbness, each motion was getting more and more difficult. Somehow, he managed to drop softly onto the carpets. He stood wavering bodily like the heat off the stones earlier in the day. Every muscle quaked. His knees buckled and he sank too fast to the ground, his hands bracing him shakily up.

He just barely registered that his armour and weapons were not where he left them. He wondered dazedly if he even brought them to the souk. Then he doubted he had left it at all. He closed his eyes to stop the tilting of the room. Something warm pressed against his face and he found himself leaning into the warm soft fabric. Someone hauled him up onto his feet which sagged like wet cloth. There was a harshness in the tone of voice speaking to him but he could not will his eyes to open or will his ears to hear clearly.

A thick tongue slurred out a plea, begging forgiveness, "I'm... sorry, master... I failed... I'm sorry... I know I never please you... I'm sorry... Please... please no more... no more... Please... I'm sorry... Master, please let me rest..." It came out in several languages blurred from word to thick word.

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A/N #2 – no art...


	58. Chapter 58: Malik Asks for Trust

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – little novice cameo...

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A thick tongue slurred out a plea, begging forgiveness, "I'm... sorry, master... I failed... I'm sorry... I know I never please you... I'm sorry... Please... please no more... no more... Please... I'm sorry... Master, please let me rest..." It came out in several languages blurred from word to thick word.

Malik's emotions roiled. He wanted to hit Altaïr and stab him many times. He wanted to hold him close and tight. He wanted to yell at him over and over. Some of the yelling happened, calling him a stupid novice often.

Malik had wallowed in his private shame the night before for maybe an hour. It took him time to sort out what he had experienced and where he stood on the acceptance of that. Oh yes, he wanted it. He wanted it so badly it ached too deep for his comfort. He ached for that feeling... he ached for... Altaïr. That knowledge alone made him upset. He had pulled his wits together and headed to the souk to have it out with Altaïr. Lines and rules needed to be drawn. This could not happen again. And if it did, it had to come first with some serious apologies and some agreements. Malik had decided to seek out Altaïr and talk about this, sort it out, but Altaïr was... gone. Malik was about to be furious when he had noticed that most of Altaïr's armour and all his weapons were still there on the floor of the souk where he had heard Altaïr drop them. He looked everywhere for Altaïr. By sunrise, he was genuinely afraid for Altaïr. It made no sense. Altaïr would never leave unarmed.

Malik could not think through the day. He searched the streets for Altaïr and then was met by a client asking about his documents. Setting aside his mixed anger and distress, he behaved like the sometimes grouchy scribe that he had to pretend to be and placated his client. He returned just before the sun was setting and moved Altaïr's things into the back room. He wondered if Altaïr was on his way to Masyaf. He wondered what Altaïr was going to say and do, how he would explain to Al Mualim his state and loss of equipment. He wondered why... why of all things Altaïr had engaged as he did with Malik. They had not done that since late in their teens. Maybe Altaïr did prefer men to women. Malik wondered if that was his fault.

He was just getting ready for bed when he heard the soft thud in the souk. He did not want to deal with someone from the Brotherhood. He came to the souk's doorway to see... Altaïr. He looked like a haunted mess. He was dusty from the Kingdom road. Malik watched Altaïr sag to the ground shaking. He rushed over to him worried Altaïr might be injured. His hand touched over Altaïr's face. Altaïr leaned into his shoulder, bonelessly. Malik hauled Altaïr up to his wobbling feet berating him sharply for all the worry he caused, for his stupidity, for so much he had not meant to snap out. But as he dragged Altaïr into the back room, he concluded Altaïr had not heard him. Altaïr mumbled and slurred what was almost word salad from several languages. Every word was a stone sinking into Malik's belly. They made no sense... they made too much sense. He didn't want to believe them. Yet, he wanted to know more, wanted to know the truth. That would have to come after.

His hand deftly picked at the boots and pulled them from Altaïr's feet, then did the same to the remaining armour while Altaïr lay on the bed mat. Malik poked and prodded and swiftly explored for injuries and found none. All he found were the aching healing ribs, some abrasions on Altaïr 's hands from climbing without his protective gloves, the swell in Altaïr's knee, and some blisters on his feet as though he had been walking non-stop for ... "You are the stupidest novice I have ever met!" Salve and bandages administered, Malik paced the room trying to sort out the roiling inside him. "You have to stop running, Altaïr. The problems don't get left behind. Stop... stop running from me. Stop trying to leave me behind."

The solution presented itself in a bottle on Malik's medical shelf. It was a drug that in small quantities could sedate a lion... or a certain eagle nicely. Mixed with another substance, it became a powerful and dangerous drug. In the right dose, you can control someone's actions, tell them to do something and they would do it without thought or even memory of it later. The side effects were that one could not manage to speak while under the influence, would either be violently ill for several hours after or sleep hard for many hours, and could become addicted to it if used a few times. Malik picked up both little bottles and looked back at Altaïr.

Malik set the bottles aside. He had more morals than others he knew. He'd ask Altaïr if he would be willing to subject himself instead of just slipping it to him. Slipping him sedatives and healing medicines is one thing, this was entirely something else. Looking back over at Altaïr, he set his jaw and got to work. Right now, Malik need to tend to Altaïr who was still shaking and yet burning up. He soaked towels in cold water and back them around Altaïr. Then he coaxed him to drink water as often as he could.

Every now and then Malik murmured almost affectionately how Altaïr was such a stupid novice. He slept close to Altaïr to make sure all was well, and to catch any other strange mumblings that hinted at whatever hard secrets Altaïr was too scared or too confused to talk about. He woke early and strip Altaïr out of his damp clothing and into dry clothing, making sure he again drank more water.

With reticence, he had to open the Bureau for that irate client. He pulled out the documents he was supposed to have ready and worked on them all morning. The client was there at noon as he had threatened. Money was exchanged for neatly scribed documents and Malik promptly locked the door the second the man was through it. He was almost finished packing things neatly away again when he heard Altaïr.

"M... Malik?"

Malik instantly abandoned everything and sat with Altaïr. "You are an infuriating, stress inducing novice... You worried me Altaïr." His words were spoken softly despite their choice. He dabbed the cool cloth on Altaïr's brow and watched those golden eyes flutter open. As Altaïr struggled to sit with so much confusion in his expression, Malik set the cloth down and brought a cup of water to his lips. "Why don't we both try to not assume things about each other from now on? Take this a step at a time."

Altaïr nodded and sipped more water. "Malik... I... I don't know what happened. How did you... how did you find me?"

"You came back here. You came back to where it is safe." Malik meant more with those words but wasn't sure he could adequately express them at this moment. The things Altaïr had mumbled about Master Al Mualim, for he was sure that was to whom Altaïr referred, made Malik want to stab the man. "Some things are true, Altaïr. Try to remember that." He let Altaïr hold the cup on his own since his hands were steady again, so Malik could have his free. Their eyes searched each other a moment. Malik wanted to make sure those words really sunk in. He repeated them softly.

Lunch was not very exciting and altogether disgusting as Malik gave Altaïr a thick soupy substance to drink. It was full of protein and nutrients, like a puree of legumes and vegetables. Altaïr never complained. Malik was sure if he made a fruit version of this with the usual bananas, he would hear complaints. He left Altaïr to get his bearing a little and sort himself out while Malik finished tidying the front room.

Scrambling over the lattice drew Malik's attention a little, but more so with the distressed calling, "Rafiiiiq! Rafiq! Heellp!" There dangles a certain ten year old novice. Malik watched the boy struggle several minutes before arranging some cushions and instructing him to let go. "NO! I'll..."

"Trust, novice, trust first that you will land on your feet and trust that I will always take care of you. The cushions will soften your fall."

With a loud OOF! The boy let go, dropping only a little clumsily onto the cushions. "I found the right roof!" he cheered. "Safety and peace, rafiq. I came to see if you needed anything from the market. I am going there."

Malik thanked his good fortune and Allah. He instructed the boy to buy as much small journals as he could with the money he was given, showing him Altaïr's little journal for size reference. It didn't matter what they looked like, but they had to have lots of pages and be this size. Malik then pointed out a couple hand-holds so the boy could climb out unaided. He only had to wait an hour or so before there was a loud thump in the souk as the green scarf hit the ground. It was tied around several empty journal books. The boy puzzled out how to get in without help and used the hand-holds he was shown earlier. Malik recorded the mission in a smaller journal he used for the boy's first mission, one he also kept for private things he recorded with his informants. The boy was thrilled to have TWO missions now logged and hurried home to tell the old Dai of his success.

Malik entered the back room with his arm full of small journals. Altaïr immediately stood and took them from him as they teetered and almost fell. "What are these for?" asked Altaïr.

Malik pursed his lips a moment wondering if Altaïr would actually agree or not. "I thought we might try something. I am asking you to trust me. Really trust me. Something happened and we both need answers, unless you know exactly why you are afraid of water and exactly why some other things happen to you that you cannot remember." Malik saw Altaïr's eyes drop to the floor. "I want to help you. I want to heal you. But I need you to want help and want to be healed. I need your trust." Malik retrieved the two small bottles to explain what he had in mind.

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A/N #2 – no art...


	59. Chapter 59: Altair Agrees

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Wow... everyone wants to shank Al Mualim. I haven't even revealed what he has done, yet.

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"Altaïr, I want to help you. I want to heal you. But I need you to want help and want to be healed. I need your trust." Malik retrieved the two small bottles to explain what he had in mind.

Altaïr listened to Malik explain how this drug would work. It made him sick thinking about it. He killed a man who believed he was helping people, healing them, by using something like this. They went mad. It was so easy for the Hospitalier to control people... too easy. That kind of power was corruptive. It is exactly what Altaïr had been trying to keep Malik from. At the same time, being under that kind of influence was terrifying.

He was shaking his head and backing away from Malik. "I trust you... I do... but not... I do not trust that." He didn't even realize he had backed into the wall while sitting on the bed mats listening to Malik, not until the wall pressed firmly against him.

He watched Malik bring over a book to read the details of the drug and what it can do. Altaïr stopped him from reading, "Herbs... extracts... mixtures from distant eastern lands. They give a vague sense of... of... paradise and pleasure. They make you grave more. You remember nothing but the sensation. Robbed of your will and forced to act unwittingly, serving..." Altaïr knew it well. He had acquired some for the Master to study. Garnier, the Hospitalier used it to control his soldiers. "The Master warned me of it. One of my targets used it in experiments. Frequent use will make a mad man sane, but utterly obedient, or a sane man... to take leave of his senses and be nothing ... less than nothing. Maybe do things... terrible things. Malik... please don't."

Malik was silently readying through the text as he wanted to be sure he had the right thing in mind. He did, but what Altaïr described was a gross misuse of it. "Malik, I do not want you to become like him." Let Malik think he was discussing Garnier. Altaïr meant the Master at the same time though. "Leaders... find ways to make others follow them and obey them..."

Malik countered, "I am not going to make you do anything but write answers to questions in a way that is coherent, maybe answer some questions to things you can't remember, like why you are so afraid of water. Also, I am not a leader, Altaïr... No one follows me or obeys me."

"Some would... I would," replied Altaïr. They just looked at each other. Altaïr hoped Malik understood. He wasn't sure how else to explain it. He would follow Malik to his own death if Malik asked him. Deep down, he believed Malik would make the very best leader for the brotherhood. He was moral, knowledgeable, and wise. He knew how to be both an assassin and a rafiq. He knew healing and politics. He knew so many things that Altaïr looked up to him, always had. At least he had till he was obliged not to. Till he had a choice of going solo or bringing Malik with him on the path that the Master had set for him. He shook his head to clear the confusions.

Malik set down the bottles and sat in front of Altaïr. "I won't if you really don't want me to. I just thought it was the best way to sort out things that seem to have you so knotted up."

Malik was right about that. He was all knotted up and confused, so much so it was starting to worry him that he would make fatal mistake on missions, or worse a fatal mistake with the Master. Altaïr weighed it all very gravely, the pros and cons. How much did he trust Malik, really? After all he had done to the man, a year ago and just the other night. Maybe he deserved a little of Malik's revenge.

He met Malik's eyes. It surprised him not to see malice there. Malice had always been there other times in the year. The last couple weeks, left Altaïr wondering... wondering and feeling guiltier because of Malik's kindnesses. "Alright. But... don't leave me. I don't want ..."

"I will never leave you Altaïr." Malik emphasized his serious reassurance by placing his hand on Altaïr's.

Malik instructed Altaïr to carry in the blank journals while he brought inks and quills. Malik expected that the worst that would happen to Altaïr would be a seriously aching hand. Altaïr had to dig through the dusty abandoned supplies in the second floor for a small writing table that Malik swore he had seen there. It was one for sitting and reading or writing in bed. Altaïr brought in some cushions and got as comfortable as he could despite the growing anxiety. Malik cracked open the medicinal book he had earlier for the right proportions of the two herbal medicines. Altaïr wanted to ask if Malik really knew what he was doing but was too nervous to distract him. Killing people was easier than this. Why did he have to be so skittish about writing memories?

He accepted the decent meal from Malik who insisted he not do this on an empty stomach. "And what if that vomiting side effect hits me?"

"Just don't throw up in my bed."

Altaïr scowled back at Malik for the quip.

Malik swiftly scripted some of the questions on a paper for himself as a guide as Altaïr looked over his shoulder. Then he shredded it. Altaïr raised a brow perplexed. Malik pushed him back to sitting and so Altaïr was not so close. Altaïr winced internally thinking maybe he really really should not have tried to please Malik. This whole idea felt surreal. It was like when they were children and Malik was practicing medicine. Altaïr was always the test subject, always the patient. He wondered if any of Garnier's subjects were like this, willing and hopeful and scared, trusting that this educated doctor would heal their minds somehow. His eyes followed Malik preparing the medicine for Altaïr to drink.

He sank into his place and opened the first blank notebook, watching the cup warily, not yet ready to drink this... poison. _I wonder if this is how Garnier started out._ His eyes met Malik's again and saw only gentleness in the dark browns. "You'll be fine, Altaïr. I'll be here the whole time." Altaïr took a deep breath picked up the cup, and swallowed it back as fast as he could so he could not change his mind.

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A/N #2 – no art...


	60. Chapter 60: Drugged Part 1

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Written stuff by Altaïr is all written here in _**bold italics**_ for your convenience. Many thanks to all of you reading who helped me with ideas on what to address in this chapter. Long chapter is FREAKING long. So... I broke it up into sorta digestible parts.

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He sank into his place and opened the first blank notebook, watching the cup warily, not yet ready to drink this... poison. _I wonder if this is how Garnier started out._ His eyes met Malik's again and saw only gentleness in the dark browns. "You'll be fine, Altaïr. I'll be here the whole time." Altaïr took a deep breath picked up the cup, and swallowed it back as fast as he could so he could not change his mind.

Malik would not tell Altaïr, but this was really an experiment. It was all guesswork. If Altaïr were any other person, it would not be. But Altaïr... was Altaïr... different. He was faster, stronger, keener... healed abnormally fast. Who knew how this drug would actually affect Altaïr? Maybe Altaïr would not get the euphoric high at all. Maybe he would be able to speak and then wouldn't need to write. Maybe he'd remember clearly traumatic events. This could go really well. It could also catastrophically bad. Malik feigned confidence because that is what you had to do for a scared patient. And Altaïr... was a scared patient, a dangerous scared patient. Malik hoped this worked with little after effects.

It was supposed to have swift effects. Nothing seemed to be happening. Malik got up to get a book to read. He heard Altaïr's breathing change and become strained. Immediately he returned to Altaïr's side and sat down. He put his hand over Altaïr, "I am right here. Safety. Safety and peace Altaïr. Just relax." Those golden eyes were wide as the pupils were dilating. Malik wondered if maybe he gave too high a dose. He nibbled the inside of his lower lip as he wondered.

_First effect should be euphoria. Maybe I will get to see him smile in a goofy high?_

Malik murmured soothing words, coaxing Altaïr to relax and not fight this. "Look at me Altaïr." This was a bit of a test to see if Altaïr could and how he focused. Every muscle was tense and Altaïr was sweating. His pupils were completely dilated so he could not focus. Malik kept reassuring him. Then Altaïr started to mumble and speak. _This drug is supposed to inhibit speaking!_ Honestly, what came from Altaïr's mouth could not rightly be called speaking. It was multilingual word salad. Malik strained to try to understand. _This is not a goofy high..._ Malik wished he could reverse this now. He hugged Altaïr to him doing everything he could to soothe the sweating panic and gibbering.

In about half an hour, Altaïr started to relax and mumble. Malik eased away from him. "Altaïr... Altaïr... look at me. Say my name... Can you say my name?"

Altaïr turned his head; glassy golden eyes wavered as they slowly came to focus on Malik. "Mmm... Mal..." Altaïr fumbled with a numbing tongue as words were soon impossible to form. Malik let out a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure at first if the drug was taking hold or wearing off.

So now came the testing. If the drug was taking hold, then Altaïr would obey even the stupidest command. If the drug was wearing off, then he'd hear about it after. "Altaïr... Say your name." He watched as Altaïr frowned and struggled to form the word of his name and couldn't make it sound anything like it. Malik decided that was not such a good test considering the drug's effects. "Suck your thumb, Altaïr" There was a bit of a quizzical look from Altaïr as he obeyed. Malik refrained from smirking. "You can stop now." He thought for a few moments then asked, "Altaïr, smile for me?" It was a clumsy drugged smile, but sweet and silly in its way, like Altaïr would smile when he was much younger. "Thank you." The smile faded instantly. Malik concluded that the drug had indeed taken hold in some fashion. This meant he had to be absolutely careful about what he said, how he said it and what it implied. Altaïr would take things very literally and not likely too logically. Or, might be fully logical and carry out a complex task as if it were an order. Like if Malik said he hated someone and wanted them dead, Altaïr might bolt out the room and the Bureau and kill them.

Who knew how long this drug would last in Altaïr?

Malik opened a blank book and held out a quill. "Altaïr, Write in the journal. Write your name."

_**Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad**_

"I am going to ask you questions, Altaïr. I want you to answer them as best you can with as much clear detail as you can in the book before you. Let's try to keep it all in one language." Malik hoped that would help.

_**What language?**_

Malik was caught off guard to see Altaïr asked a question back. It was asked in German. "The one you are most comfortable with to answer the questions I ask." He suspected already that the language might change depending on the question. But he found it incredibly fascinating that the first language Altaïr chose to write in was not one he usually heard Altaïr speak. That alone answered a question for Malik, who always suspected Altaïr was from another place. Now he assumed that place was Germany, or at least his mother was from there

Malik thought about a variety of 'safe' questions to ask. He wanted to ease Altaïr into the rhythm of this and not potentially instigate another panic attack. He was already fairly certain now that Altaïr had been subject to this before, thus the fight and panic earlier. He filed that question for later. 'Safe' questions... _What would be a safe question?_ "How old were you when you joined the assassins in Masyaf?"

_**I was eight years old when I came to Masyaf. The Master retrieved me the day after my birthday.**_

_Retrieved?_ That was going to be another question. That was an assassin term for when you were sent for an object and ordered to assassinate those in possession of it, like the Solomon Temple mission was to retrieve the treasure, the Piece or Apple of Eden. "What promise did I make you the first night we shared a room together?"

_**You promised you would always be my friend.**_

Other 'safe' questions came to mind. "What is your favourite color and mine?"

_**Sandy gold. You wanted to make a black uniform with gold trim. I wanted a white one. Gold is both our favourite color.**_

"What happened to your knee that makes it give you trouble? And when?" This was a 'safe' question too since Malik was already told the answer. Altaïr had fallen badly and ignored it and it healed poorly without attention.

_**It is the knee I keep landing on. It was first hurt when the Master forced me to my knees when I was twelve. **_

THAT was not the answer Malik expected. It was also not the answer he knew from what Altaïr had told him earlier. He opened his mouth to ask a deeper question and chose not to just yet. "Where did you go and what did you do when you left the Bureau the day before yesterday?" Malik had a fair idea of this answer. It was 'safe' to ask.

Altaïr detailed the route he took out of the city and up the road to the rest of the Kingdom where he stopped. It was a non-stop run to that point. The quill hesitated and Malik assumed Altaïr was not sure how far to write. Maybe that was as far as Altaïr had run before turning back.

Malik wondered how much Altaïr was coherently aware of at this moment since he had asked a question back. But as he watched the writing it steadily become for consistent and the look in Altaïr's face more lax and neutral. "Why did you leave?"

_**You did not want me around. I shamed you. I shamed me. You were angry. I thought I pleased you but I did not. I didn't want to be punished anymore. Running is easier. I didn't want to fight, not with you.**_

Malik frowned as he read the Arabic wishing he could answer to these issues and have his words remembered. He answered anyways; maybe Altaïr would remember it in his heart at least. "I was ashamed. Ashamed of myself, not of you. I didn't want you to go, just to give me space to sort it out in my head. Altaïr, you did please me. And it scared me to think I might want more from you and not know if that were even possible." Why not say it all! Not like Altaïr will consciously remember it. Maybe now that it was said once, it might be easier to say again later.

Malik continued with a few other random shallow questions partially for his own comfort and to be sure Altaïr what deeply into this rhythm. Also, he was weighing how he wanted to ask his questions, chronologically or subject of importance. Or maybe his most burning questions? First burning questions then chronological was his decision, all in a split second. "Why did you try to please me two nights ago?"

_**You prefer men. You seemed to want to be touched. I used to please you. I thought you would want to be pleased for a change since you had not in so long. I wanted to please you. I like to please you.**_

Malik's cheeks burned deeply as he read this. He pulled his focus to a clinical angle and deduced that things that were very personal to Altaïr were German in writing. Thing that related to Malik were in Arabic. Although the knee answer was in Latin. Malik suspected Latin was what Altaïr was using for things related to Al Mualim.

"Why did Master AL Mualim force you to your knees when you hurt your knee?" Malik suspected Altaïr was being punished... again... for another breaking of some rule thus displeasing Al Mualim and needing correction. Malik still had a hard time believing Al Mualim would do anything disreputable.

_**I upset him. I did not please him. He was angered and was instructing me.**_

It was as Malik suspected but on a whim he asked anyways, "Did you please him like you please me?"

_**No. I please you because I want to. I please him because I have to.**_

Malik's hand flew to his mouth to prevent him from saying something that could be taken as a command from Altaïr. Of all the things he would expect of Al Mualim, THAT was not one of them. "Did you have to please him often?"

_**It was part of my night training in his study.**_

Malik clenched his fist and took a deep breath. Consensual acts was one thing. This... was right there on the list of things Malik considered should not be permitted... right there with not harming innocents. Next question now that he thought about it and was in a mood about AL Mualim on this. "Did he beat you? Tell me what he has done to you."

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A/N #2: anyone want to draw something for this?


	61. Chapter 61: Drugged Part 2

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Thanks for the reviews. To the Frenchie out there, THANKS! I will keep track of your comment so I can later make corrections to my awful Quebeqois French that Templars from France would not have spoken.

A/N #2 – So here is part 2 from the madness of Altaïr. Pardon that I will not write everything of the answer to the question... just the random flashes that will be stuck with Altaïr... and Malik once Malik reads it all.

A/N #3 – If you have issues with physical abuse or sexual assault or rape or anything along those lines that could happen to a child and adult... then maybe you should just skip this chapter. Like seriously... this is a WARNING... this is bad and graphic. It may come out a bit random... but Malik did not ask for it to come out chronologically.

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Malik clenched his fist and took a deep breath. Consensual acts was one thing. This... was right there on the list of things Malik considered should not be permitted... right there with not harming innocents. It was part of the CREED! Next question now that he thought about it and was in a mood about AL Mualim on this. "Did he beat you? Tell me what he has done to you."

_**Yes. I had to be toughened, taught, punished, forged. I am nothing and everything. Without him, I would not be. He made me.**_

Altaïr started to write and write and write. The lettering was terrible, but at least pretty much all in Latin. Somewhere in Altaïr's mind he was screaming out to stop, but he could not. The images, the memories surfaced unbidden, forced to the surface to be relived in silent anguish and written. The best Altaïr could pray for was to forget it all when the drug wore off. Maybe beg for a little more of the drug and a compulsion to forget.

_**He'd hit me and tell me to quiet. Teaching me to take it. In case I was ever captured. I had to obey him. Never make a mistake. I was punished often. The cane hit me on the shoulders, my arms, my back, my chest, my legs. If I yelled or cried I was hit again. **_

_**It is easier to be numb, to pretend to not be there. Easier to just not feel it. They were lessons. So I can fight beyond the pain. So when other men would be dead, I will still fight. I will live. I will complete my missions when other assassins would fall. I am silent. I am deadly. I can endure anything. **_

_**I am special... I am nothing. He told me that.**_

He wrote and wrote. It was not in any order of occurrence. How do you describe twenty years worth of stuff taught and done to him.

_**On my knees he instructed me. Never to meet his eyes. Never to show how I feel. To open my mouth and accept. To swallow my pride and obey. I pleased him on my knees. If he was pleased, the lessons would be different. I would learn lore, language, subtle skills good for assassination. I would learn about the other missions and how they succeeded or failed, how I could do it better. I wanted to be the best. I did not want to drown. Held under water is the worst punishment, worse than being held over a table from behind. Submit and obey or die.**_

Altaïr gave details of event after event as the rose in his mind. The details were precise and thorough. He sweated as he wrote unable to cry out to Malik to save him.

_**At first I would choke on him. He grew so large in my mouth and dove down my throat. It was hard to breathe. I learned to breathe. I learned to relax. **_

_**I will be good. I will obey. I am the best assassin in the order. No one can do what I do. No one. **_

_**There is no fear. Fear is not allowed. Even when he pushed me from the wall. He caught me. He will always catch me. There is no escaping him. He knows everything I do. He saves me when I am drowning.**_

_Malik! Malik stop! Please make it stop!_

_**The cane bangs the table with each mistake. Bangs my arm or my leg if they are wrong. Bangs the desk. I bang the desk when he holds me teaching me to be still and wait for the right moment. Timing. It hurts. The desk is hard. I like soft things, he likes hard. If I relax, it is less hard. I learn to relax so it hurts less. He pushes me over the desk so I cannot throw him off. He teaches me new lessons. They are old now. I heal fast so he tests me. How much he can hit me. How often he can push into me. Can I recite the routes in the languages I know? I know the desk map by heart. **_

_**I didn't run fast enough. I stopped when I should have run. He dragged me away from you. I never listen. I should not speak back. He hit me with the cane. There was blood again. I bleed but I don't die. I am special. **_

_**He made me drink things and we recorded the effects. I can name two hundred and thirty three poisons by taste and smell. **_

_**He showed me all the weapons. I learned what they could do and what it feel like to have it used on me. He taught me to ignore the pain. I have to ignore it or I will die. I have to obey or I will drown. If I am a good assassin, the best assassin, I will live and do great things with him. We can bring about peace.**_

_**He teaches me about peace. Oneness. I sit on his lap as he holds me. Oneness can be like that too. It doesn't have to hurt. If people learn to move together it can be bliss. Paradise is possible. Everything is permitted. Nothing is true. There is no paradise unless we create it. **_

Malik could not keep up and could not keep reading. It just was horrible page after page. He wanted to throw up. He recognized the beating that earned Altaïr the scar on his mouth, remembered it well. He wondered if he should stop Altaïr. He stopped reading. He just couldn't do it. Malik looked away and let Altaïr write. He promised himself he would read it all later when he was not going to totally explode with a man under the influence of a compulsion drug. He glimpsed over now and then. Altaïr learned how to keep silent from Al Mualim. The lessons were a mix of assassin lessons, language lessons, sexual lessons, beatings, and twisted theory and philosophy that all lent to Altaïr's early arrogance.

_**Nothing is true, everything is permitted. There is no one true right way. No black or white. Only the desire for better and the choices we make for that. Anything is possible. Free will allows us to choose. So everything is permitted. Rules are a there for the sheep who cannot understand. Leaders are they to help people choose when the choices are difficult. There are many ways to achieve a goal. Nothing is true. Everything is permitted. Think beyond the rules and you cannot fail. I will not fail. Everything is permitted. This supersedes the Creed. The Creed can be limiting. **_

_**I DON'T UNDERSTAND! WHY? Why? Why teach me and then punish me for doing as I was told? He loved me. He protected me. I tried. I tried to please him. I was never good enough. I can never really please him... or anyone... I should question but learn. Not question without reason. He always has the answers.**_

When Altaïr's writing slowed, Malik asked, "You said Al Mualim retrieved you. Tell me about that." Again Altaïr wanted to scream and run, above all else from this memory. He relived it as though he was just eight again. _Smothered with a hand of a man in Dai robes. A one-eyed man. He could hear his father fighting and struggling, bubbling and splashing as two man in plain clothing held him under till the struggles stopped. He could hear his mother screaming. The water was so shallow. His mother was tied so she could not run. She bubbled and wriggled till she too was silent. He saw it all like it was the first time. Held protectively by the Master._ _"Shhhhh... Quiet my little fledgling and you will be safe. Silence and invisibility. Let the crowd hide you in plain sight and they will not see you. They will not drown you. I will save you. I will teach you. I will protect you. But you must listen to me, learn from me. Be a good assassin. I name you Son of None, for now you are. You will learn to fly like and eagle so that too will be your name. Altaïr, the flying eagle. _

_**He kept me safe while we watched people drown my parents in the docks of Acre. If I was a good assassin, that would never happen to me. All I wanted to be was a good assassin. The best. He said if I did as he told me, I would be. And I am. **_

_**Then I failed him... twice.**_

_**

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**_

A/N #3: Will anyone dare to draw something for this? Someone did for the last chapter: Marisoru

http:/ marisoru .deviantart .com/art/Smile-166982344


	62. Chapter 62: Drugged Part 3

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – So here is part 3 from the madness of Altaïr. There will be no thoughts here from Altaïr as this is more Malik's chapter.

* * *

_**He kept me safe while we watched people drown my parents in the docks of Acre. If I was a good assassin, that would never happen to me. All I wanted to be was a good assassin. The best. He said if I did as he told me, I would be. **_

_**And I am. Then I failed him... twice.**_

Malik no longer needed to ask why Altaïr was afraid of water. "Do you know who drowned your parents?"

_**No**_

Malik suspected though. Malik's next questions he knew were going to be hard ones for them both. He chose not to look over at all. It was best he ask all the hard awful questions in one go and analyze it later... even the questions he might not want the answers to.

He asked about the two failings. The first he guessed would gain him the same information about Adha he already knew. The second would be the failure at Solomon's Temple, which he also already knew. He asked why Altaïr was given these missions.

_**Robert de Sable would be there. So I had to be. He was guarding the treasure. You and Kadar would never survive getting it without me. You were limited. Kadar was a novice. I could not do it alone, but I should have. I am the best and it would be I who would help the Master bring about a world of peace. That treasure was the key. And since I lost the Chalice, I could not lose this treasure. If I had the chance, I was to kill him, kill Robert de Sable. Then you and Kadar could get the treasure. If not, you and Kadar would give good distraction while I retrieved it. I could not let that happen. You and Kadar should not face Robert de Sable. He is a better fighter. I could not kill him the first time I fought him. **_

Then he asked even harder questions. Why did Altaïr abandon their friendship and work solo? Why did he stop confiding in him? Why was he and Kadar suddenly expected to work with him on such an important mission as the treasure at Solomon's temple?

_**I was supposed to keep you with me. We were good partners. But you had so much good in you and what I did was not so moral. You would never approve of what I was doing, what I was learning. I had to make you hate me, keep you away. I know what was happening with the Master was wrong, I did not want it to happen to you. I wanted you safe. I wanted you far away from him. I did not want him to think he could touch you. I did not want him touching you. No one is allowed to hurt you. I wanted to keep you safe. You were already jealous. I used that. It was easy. I hated myself for it. But you were away from me. I was... I am... dangerous. I am not human, but an animal. I am better solo. You are better without me.**_

_**The Master ordered me to take you and Kadar along to the temple. I wanted to do it alone. He did not trust me. I failed with the chalice. I asked for someone else, anyone else, anyone but you. He punished me for questioning his judgement. He hit me so hard everything was black. When I woke he commanded me again. I begged he not send Kadar at least. He taught me about begging. I am never allowed to beg. He is the master and we must all obey him. He knows what must be done.**_

From here Malik asked about the treasures. What were they and why Altaïr was chosen to hunt them? However, Altaïr did not know much.

_**They belonged to Those Who Came Before. There is the Chalice and the Apple of Eden. The Chalice is gone. Adha... is gone. These treasures can help bring a new world order. Peace between all people. But the Templars wish to use it to control people. We must keep the treasures from them. The Master wants them where we can keep them safe. They are so powerful and so dangerous. They are worth dying for. Worth killing for. I am the one who can get them because I am above the Creed.**_

_**But I am not above the Creed.**_

_**And I have not learned to move well as one with the Master. I needed to start over.**_

Then Malik asked something forbidden. He asked the details of the missions Altaïr was on now. Did Al Mualim kill Altaïr as rumored and what happened after? Who were his targets and why? A furtive glance showed that Altaïr was moving from language to language as he wrote about different people or situation.

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A/N #2: anyone want to draw something for this?


	63. Chapter 63: Drugged Part 4

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – So here is part 4 from the madness of Altaïr. The Drugs won't last forever.

* * *

Then Malik asked something forbidden. He asked the details of the missions Altaïr was on now. Did Al Mualim kill Altaïr as rumored and what happened after? Who were his targets and why? A furtive glance showed that Altaïr was moving from language to language as he wrote about different people or situation.

_**Before everyone, I was apprehended. He had heard your statement and challenged me on the Creed. Convicted me for doing as I was bade. They held me while he denounced me as a traitor in your name. I was not a traitor. I AM NOT A TRAITOR! I did what I had thought I should. I did what I was taught. The Master's blade bite deep into my chest. I felt death's embrace. **_

_**I woke healed and in his study. I was reborn to relearn the ways of the Assassins. To bring about peace, peace in all things. I had lost myself. He lost me. I was out of control. I had to die. I had to be reborn. I had to relearn. Peace in all things, within and without. There is no peace within me. I need to learn it.**_

_**He said I should be killed for the pain I brought upon the Brotherhood. You wanted me dead as fair exchange for Kadar's life. But the Master had use of me and did not want to waste me. I was stripped to a novice to learn again and to redeem myself. Others used to track my targets for me, not I track my own. I become the hunter and the killer. **_

_**The Master told me we have a traitor in our ranks, high in the ranks. The traitor is assisting Robert de Sable. He is my final target... if I can find him. The Master has clues, but not enough for me to find him and kill him. We found him in Masyaf. But he is one of what might be many.**_

_**Nine men need to die. They are plague-bringers, war-makers. Their power and influence corrupts the land and ensure the Crusades continue. I will find them. Kill them. In doing so, I sow the seeds of peace. Both for the region, and for myself. In this way I might be redeemed. Nine lives in exchange for mine.**_

_**Tamir of Damascus was my first. He was a Black Market merchant. **_

_**Talal, the slave trader of Jerusalem, was my second.**_

_**Garnier, my third, was a doctor, a torturer. He was in Acre.**_

_**Abul was a merchant king in Damascus. He was going to poison the entire nobility and merchant upper classes.**_

_**In the Fort of Acre was William. He was a Templar ruler of the city.**_

_**The Regent here in Jerusalem, the Madj Addin.**_

_**There are three others, but the Master had not named them for me yet. I will know them when I return to him. I hope he is pleased with my successes. **_

Malik had to change books a couple time by this point. After all these heavy questions, Malik decided to ask some simpler ones. "Do you still want a child?"

_**Yes. I wish we could have adopted one together as we had planned. Maybe I will have a woman one day who will not hate me and have a child with her, one we can all share and love the way your family loved each other. The way mine used to love me.**_

Malik knew for certain now that Altaïr was comfortable with bedding women. Part of him was disappointed. Though, part of him was completely touched at how Altaïr would ensure he was involved as if part of that family. He wondered if he would be called Malik-dad and Altaïr would be Altaïr-dad or if he would be called Uncle Malik. Malik had to clear his throat before he asked his next question. "Did you love anyone or anything after you came to Masyaf?" Malik suspected this was both a selfish and loaded question. Also, it could so be bad to read the answer, but he leaned in anyways to read.

_**I loved you and some kittens I found a month after I arrived. They were so small and soft. I brought them back to show you but the Master caught me with them. He made me drown them one by one in a bucket.**_

Well, that would neatly add to Altaïr's fear of water and drowning.

_**I still love you. But so much has happened between us that I know you no longer love me. You had said it would only be fair if I died. **_

Malik took a deep shaking breath. He wanted to address this too, but especially wanted Altaïr coherent for it. It took Malik a couple minutes to recompose himself and find the other questions he had in his head before the drugs wore off. "My first assassination mission was to find and kill the goat that was wrecking the laundry lines around Masyaf. What was your first mission?"

_**My target was Rasheed Saharam. **_

"I meant your novice assassination."

_**My target was Rasheed Saharam. **_

Malik paused as he realized what this meant. Altaïr had never had a novice mission. Rasheed was a mission Al Mualim went on that Altaïr was supposed to be just observing. Malik now knew Altaïr had been obliged to take a human life for his first mission... unless you counted the little of innocent kittens.

Malik was starting to run out of questions. He had questions about their relationship and what Altaïr has learned from his demotion. But those were things he wanted to discuss with Altaïr not get a written answer without discussion. Altaïr's writing had gotten messier and his hand had started to shake. Malik was fairly sure he could also ask about something that would help him, like things that could be done, or concessions taken to make him more comfortable in Malik's presence, less afraid of rejection. Altaïr's hand would hurt for days after this. He has written more in the last several hours than he has in likely his whole life.

One last question. Malik figured anything else would or could be dealt with after. This was a step to help them start talking about things. "Have you ever been drugged before? I need you to remember this Altaïr. Remember what happened if you were. You need to remember."

He never got the answer. Altaïr was already starting to shake too much and slurring stressed words. He could only assume that was a yes. Watching as Altaïr came down from the trance-like state in fits of terror and struggle were as horrible as watching him write some things. He wanted to ask more and now that he couldn't, a million questions were in his head. Some secrets were either going to remain secrets or one day there would be enough trust between them that they could share their hard secrets with each other.

It was like watching a night terror but Altaïr was awake, gibbering and struggling and panicking. Malik fought to keep Altaïr from hurting himself in his frantic thrashing. Malik held him tightly for hours after. Altaïr managed to shove him off and back himself into a corner, hands on his head almost screaming to not remember, begging to not remember.

_Oh gods... he remembers? I made him remember it?_ And he had to chastise himself for forgetting that Altaïr was different, different enough that you could not predict the outcome of a drug like this. It was another several hours before Altaïr was calmed and asleep.

* * *

A/N #2: anyone want to draw something for this?


	64. Chapter 64: Malik Regrets

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Glad you all survived reading the 4-part drugged sequence. I wish there were happy endings, but not yet... so not yet...

* * *

Altaïr was different from other human beings, different enough that you could not predict the outcome of a drug like this. The last commands stayed with him. It was another several hours before Altaïr was calmed and asleep. And he slept hard, unless Malik tried to hold him more or touch him, then he fussed and pushed away and stressed, but did not really wake. Malik blamed Al Mualim completely for Altaïr's lack of trust in this kind of comfort.

Malik fretted quietly about what he had done. It was a mistake. It was so easy and so tempting. He had felt a little of the payback for all the things Altaïr had done to him, but then when they really were into this, there were not words for how horrible it was. Guilt made him nauseous. Altaïr had been trying to keep him from all this, all this that had happened to Altaïr could have happened to him, or to Kadar. Altaïr had tried ti keep them both safe from it, but in the end could not.

Malik rose to light the lamps as the room was dark, and to light incense. He needed to feel some comfortable routine. Every time Altaïr groaned and moved in his sleep, Malik rushed back. But no amount of trying could wake Altaïr. This was the crash from the drug, a known side effect. He wished he could have learned what Altaïr did under the drug given him before and who administered it. He wished he had never given it to Altaïr.

He wished that more when Altaïr roused slightly begging in murmurs for more of the drug to make it all go away. Malik questioned his own motives to drugging Altaïr over and over.

He could not believe Altaïr would let AL Mualim do these things to him. But maybe as a child he did not know better. Maybe now as an adult, he believed it was the price for greater things. Malik would never want to compromise his morals. Altaïr needed someone to discuss the Creed with him, the morals of it and the extensions of it.

There was so much in these journals now. So much emotions between them and so many things that happened. No wonder Altaïr does not trust him, he truly believed Malik hated him and wanted him dead. Malik kind of did back then, but he knows better now. In fact, especially now, he knows more than he wanted. He hated Al Mualim so much, yet understood the motives. Find someone who might be able to do the impossible, train them to do it, then use them to deal with something so big it is hard to fathom. Few could have accomplished some of the things Altaïr does. Few would ever survive it. The fact that even Altaïr survived this last one was miraculous.

Malik cleaned up the ink bottles noting he will need more now. He piled the filled journals and discarded the ruined quills. Malik liked things in their places and clean. He could not bear to look through what Altaïr had written yet. He made sure to put away the drugs to lessen the chance of Altaïr helping himself. His own mind buzzed with the mix of wondering what Al Mualim really was doing, who was the high ranking traitor in the Brotherhood, and the truly terrible things Al Mualim did to Altaïr. Al Mualim was like a father and a great leader to them all. This dark stain on his reputation... no one would believe it. No one would believe Altaïr. Why would they? Altaïr had betrayed people, in their eyes.

He made food and ate and watched Altaïr sleep fitfully.

"Forgive me Altaïr for what I just did to you. Had I really known the extent... I am not sure I would have done it. I hope we can sort it out after and we can both heal from it." Malik smoothed Altaïr's damp hair, the hood pushed back so he could gaze upon his faze saddened. "He has driven us apart and tears us further every day. I am not so easily shaken off when I want something. That is why I am here, isn't it? So I cannot see. So I will not know.

Malik heard the name Faruq muttered in one of the late night moments when Altaïr was dreaming... or remembering. Malik was himself not sleeping well, so this woke him. It was near dawn and he debated staying up. He heard Altaïr mutter the word fog too and complained to himself how he completely forgot to ask about the fog. He'd ask later. What did Faruq have to do with the fog that Altaïr experienced? He tried to forget he heard it and think about Altaïr's targets. Why them? What connected them? The ones here in Jerusalem were certainly people Malik had on a list of those he felt needed to be removed. But Altaïr had said nine lives for his own. If he failed, Al Mualim would kill him for that failure. There was no doubt. And the Brotherhood would cheer for it. Something connected these people and something connected them to the traitor within the Brotherhood ranks. Al Mualim may have done terrible things to Altaïr, but he has lead the Assassins well for decades.

Malik tried to sooth Altaïr in another fitful moment that morning, but the still mostly asleep Altaïr would have none of it. He struggled to keep Malik away, "Mrmnh... noo... Don't touch... no..." Malik frowned at Altaïr's mumbling. The only thing he could do was sit close and maybe brush his fingers through Altaïr's hair.

* * *

A/N #2: anyone want to draw something for this?


	65. Chapter 65: Altair Remembers Faruq

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – The last command was to remember... remember what happened the last time Altaïr was drugged. So... what did he remember?

* * *

Malik tried to sooth Altaïr in another fitful moment that morning, but the still mostly asleep Altaïr would have none of it. He struggled to keep Malik away, "Mrmnh... noo... Don't touch... no..." Malik frowned at Altaïr's mumbling. The only thing he could do was sit close and maybe brush his fingers through Altaïr's hair.

Throughout the night, Altaïr fought within an eternal nightmare. He never had recalled how he got his mouth scar. Many things he had not recalled. His parents' death was among them. They all swam in and out of his dreams. He could not wake from them. As the night wore on, they faded some. All but the last memory. He hadn't even had the slightest inkling of it, unlike the others. There was no familiarity with it and yet the completely sick sense that it was familiar.

This memory surfaced again and again through the night, more as the morning showed some light.

_He had argued with the Master. That was never a good thing. He tried to argue as his equal. He paid for it as his subject, bent hard over a table, barely able to stand from the caning. Forced into submission in every way till He said "Yes, Master." Until he said it and accepted it, meant it. He sagged to the floor of the private study, sore and shaking from what he experienced. He blacked out before he could crawl to the small privy and fountain to clean up._

_He woke clean and dressed. He was lounging on a soft sofa as a novice brought him some food and fine wine. He thought maybe he had fallen asleep on this little balcony sofa. He ate and sipped the wine as he collected his thoughts, then geared up with his armour and weapons which were all neatly piled where he would have left them. The sun had beat down on him too long and he felt a bit dizzy. He entered the Library and found a quiet shady place to lie down again._

_Everything sounded hallow and too sharp at the same time till it all came into focus. "Ride out to Acre. Intercept Faruq on his mission and end him. Be the assassin you are known to be, invisible and deadly. Take a sip of this vial every evenly spaced three times a day till you return. Return swiftly when you are done."_

_He was marching swiftly through the halls and out through the city of Masyaf. The nearest horse sufficed. Logically, this mission was insane, forbidden, but there was this pleasant buzz where he did not care, hijacked by the pleasure he barely recognized as an opium high. The rest would be forgotten till he woke again in the library, except he was asked to remember. So he remembered..._

_Four guards died at the side gates for his entry into Acre. He wove invisibly through the crowds. Faruq's mission was to take out a corrupt money manager. He knew which one. He crouched near the Bureau waiting and watching for Faruq to return with information and to claim the feather for his target. It was supposed to be his last mission. He was retiring to be a doctor after this. Altaïr listened to the discussion in the bureau after Faruq acquired his feather for his kill._

_As instructed, Altaïr sipped more from the vial and relaxed into the pleasantness of it. Faruq was on the move. Altaïr almost missed him. He ran across buildings and leapt gaps with an eagle's grace. It was easy to fly. But flying was not the mission. He saw Faruq ahead and gave light chase. He dropped down in front of Faruq startling him into a defensive stance._

"_Altaïr, you caught me almost off guard." Faruq relaxed to the familiar face. "Was there something wrong? Is there a change to my mission? No... Templars... you show up if there are Templars. But there are not supposed to be..." Faruq never finished the statement of shock, though his expression was more stunned by the sword through him, held by none other than Altaïr. The blood oozed up the blade and trickled over Altaïr 's fingers. Faruq sank and sagged off the blade confused. _

_Altaïr had cleaned his blade with Faruq's robe and vanished in the darkness. Night guards felt the sting of his blade too till he was again free of Acre's stench and riding hard on a stolen horse, dust kicked up as he forced the horse to run till it could no longer walk. He abandoned it and ran on foot till he could get another horse. He rose three horses to death. The fourth trotted to a halt outside Masyaf and he sipped the last from the vial. The pleasantness warmed his whole body for a little while. _

_Back in the library the Master chastised him for being dirty and instructed him to clean, change and rest in the library lounge. He woke there as sun from a window baked his face and made him terribly nauseous. He had no memory of how he had gotten there. _

But now he did. Now Altaïr knew exactly how he got there and what happened, but not who had set him on that path of horror. He tossed and rolled and tried to pull away from Malik's attempts to comfort him. He did not deserve them. He wanted to die. This had to all be a lie... but he knew... he knew it was not.

Then the fog invaded his dream. This had never happened before. The fog never swelled through the chaos of thoughts to blanks them all out and quiet the tension. There was something peaceful in it. Maybe he got his wish. Maybe he was actually poisoned by accident with this drug. Maybe he was dying.

_The fog was all around him, cool and soothing. Faruq knelt before him. "Finally. I have waited a long time for this."_

"_How are you here?" Altaïr asked dumbfounded._

"_I waited till you remembered what you had done. And I do not blame you for it. You were swift. I did not suffer. And you would never have done it if you had not been forced from your senses." Faruq was always too understanding._

"_But I killed you. You were on mission. You are one of the Brotherhood." This made no sense._

"_And someone bade you do it when you could not control yourself. You need to find out who. You need to tell Malik." Faruq was gentle, but insistent._

_Altaïr shook his head, "Malik will not understand. He'll kill me. He already wanted me dead for Kadar. I cannot tell him!"_

"_You can... and you must. He deserves to know. And he won't kill you. He cares too much for you. He loves you." Faruq leaned closer to Altaïr in the fog. "He will be angry though. He always did have a temper. He'll probably throw books at you. He used to do that alot. Don't run from him. This is something you need to take. He needs you to take it and stay till he realizes you had been drugged."_

"_He won't believe that."_

"_He will... let his anger run its course. Stay... he needs you. You are all he's got now. You need each other. Tell him, I am proud of him and that I am looking after Kadar now. We are in good hands. You two... you must find the traitor and end him before he destroys not just the brotherhood, but makes this war into something far far worse." Faruq's words were grave with their warning. "Promise Altaïr. Promise you will not run from Malik. Promise."_

"_I promise..."_

The fog faded and the dream returned to the blood on his hands and Faruq's body on the alley floor in Acre. Altaïr yelled as he woke.

* * *

A/N #2: anyone want to draw something for this?


	66. Chapter 66: Malik Explodes

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – You know Malik will not take the news well...

* * *

The fog faded and the dream returned to the blood on his hands and Faruq's body on the alley floor in Acre. Altaïr yelled as he woke.

Malik of course hurried over now that Altaïr was awake and clearly distraught. Altaïr's wide golden eyes met his. Malik watched Altaïr's mouth work but nothing came out, "Altaïr? What is it? Tell me."

Altaïr's breath was short and almost frantic. He pulled away from Malik, one hand shoving him back. "Blood… Acre… The fog… Blood on my blade… Faruq… in the fog… in the alley… What have I done?"

The words tumbled from Altaïr's mouth and Malik tried to understand. "Altaïr, you are not making sense…

"I… I… killed Faruq…"

Then he heard his brother's name, Faruq. He stood and took a couple steps back from Altaïr. All he heard was the rushing of his own blood in his ears drowning out all other sounds as the room seemed suddenly midnight chill. The words clicked into their puzzle places in Malik's mind. Altaïr killed Faruq on Faruq's last mission in Acre… right before going to Solomon's Temple.

Altaïr knew his brother was dead before their own mission. _That arrogant insensitive BASTARD!_ Malik's world snapped back into deadly focus, "YOU BASTARD!" He grabbed the first thing he could reach and threw it. The book hit Altaïr hard on the shoulder.

Altaïr struggled to his feet as a second book hit true.

Jars of salve followed books, anything Malik could grab and throw. Malik screamed and yelled his fury at him. All the anger from a whole year ago boiled to the surface. "How could you! He cared about you! He was my brother! He was one of our order! You knew! Before the temple you knew!" He yelled incoherently as he pulled the blade from Altaïr's weapon's harness hanging off a hook.

Whatever Altaïr might had tried to say was never heard. Malik raged at him, rushed him swinging the short curved knife. The first two swings backed Altaïr into the wall. "YOU TRAITOROUS HATEFUL BASTARD!" The blade swung arcing across Altaïr's face. His hands barely blocked it as the edge sliced a deep cut across both palms. In the back swing, instinct made Altaïr clench his fists and turn them in to use his forearms for a shield, just usually the forearms are armoured. The knife sliced back across them, cutting a line into both. Malik snarled his hatred out at Altaïr. His words ripping shreds as well as his blade could, maybe better.

Malik flung the knife that clattered into the wall. He then tore through the room in his blind fury, screaming at Altaïr to get out, to leave, to die like he should have. Altaïr stayed put, rooted against the wall. If Altaïr was not leaving then he would! Malik stormed from the back room. The gate banged back and forth with the force of his passing. The bolt locks clanged and the door slammed shut.

Malik stood in his little benched area outside, chest heaving. His fingers grabbed at his own hair with a strangled cry that he tried to smother so as not to draw too much attention. He sank onto a bench there. He knew by the time he calmed enough to go back inside, Altaïr would be gone. Because that is Altaïr does. He runs. His fingers dragged from his hairline down over his eyes as he choked on his tears. Faruq… Kadar… It was easier thinking Faruq died on mission. It was an occupational hazard and Faruq was not so young. But to know he was assassinated… by a member of their own order… but Altaïr of all people. He wanted to hate Altaïr, wanted to kill him, but somehow could not and hated himself instead.

Two guards who had heard the fight as most neighbors likely did came to the edge of the covered garden. Someone intercepted them and told them things were under control. Malik looked up confused as one of his trusted informants sat down on the bench beside him. The informant said nothing, just sat there with Malik for a long while, maybe half an hour while Malik calmed his emotions and tried to sort his thoughts.

A woman with a little four-year-old came into the garden. The child ran over to the informant and hugged him. "Elli, sweetheart, you remember Malik? The rafiq who came for tea a few weeks ago? I think he needs one of your extra special hugs." The woman looked quizzically at her husband who shook his head at her.

The little girl wriggled free and climbed the bench beside Malik. "You need a hug. Daddy said." And she hugged Malik who could do nothing else but hug her back.

"Sometimes things are not as clear as we think and we need to get past the anger and misinformation to find the truth, rafiq." The informant directed his daughter back to her mother's waiting arms and instructed them to meet him in the market at the sweets stand. Elli squealed in glee and her mother carried her off.

Malik wiped his face with his sleeve and collected his shattered pride and soul.

"The apothecary merchant's daughter was here to drop off a box. But you were yelling inside so I advised her to leave it. She looked at me like a lioness surveys prey before she finally agreed to trust me with it." The informant indicated the box by his own feet. "Shall I place it inside for you?"

Malik nodded with a tired thank you. The lies were not Altaïr's but someone else's. Altaïr was as much victim in this. Malik thought about this a bit more as he opened the door for the informant to set the box inside. Someone drugged Altaïr and bade him kill Faruq. The informant said what he had to say could wait and that Malik really should come by the house for it at his earliest convenience. Malik promised to do so and quietly locked the door behind him.

* * *

A/N #2: no art… alas…


	67. Chapter 67: Altair Tries to Right Things

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Some asked how Malik figured out Altaïr was drugged for it. He already knew something happened when Altaïr was drugged, but not what. It had to be something awful considering how Altaïr came out of his drugged trance and the way he slept off the drugging. Also, Malik has been slowly over the last few months and especially the last few weeks piecing together a mystery of treachery. He is missing only a few pieces… important one. If he had been in Masyaf this whole time… He would have seen this. He only regrets how blindly trusting he was about what AL Mualim did to Altaïr. He knew and yet didn't get the true extent of it. His own jealousy was in the way of really recognizing the horrors that were inflicted on Altaïr that he now knows as fact. I will try to bring in some comfort after so many chapters of anguish… just not in this one.

* * *

The informant said what he had to say could wait and that Malik really should come by the house for it at his earliest convenience. Malik promised to do so and quietly locked the door behind him.

In the meantime…

Everything Altaïr had ever imagined Malik would think or day to him was screamed and punctuated by a thrown object. His instincts pushed him to run, but there was nowhere to run unless Malik left, then there would be less need to run. His other instincts tempted him to let go and fight back like an assassin. But it was Malik! He could not do it. A very dark deep part of him asked over and over again why he was bothering to put up any defence. He was being punished justly. Though Altaïr was not sure anything but death was a suitable or fair punishment. Not now, not with what he knew.

_Malik has lost everything because of me. He hates me, rightly hates me like no one else could. _

The bite of the blade into his flesh reminded him of too many other pains. He cringed against the wall. He tried to say Malik's name but fast realized he was forbidden to speak. Malik would yell at him to shut the hell up. He could be quiet. How is this any different than any other deserved punishment? Take it. He would take it like he has taken so many others.

Then Malik was gone. The bangs and slams told Altaïr that Malik left the Bureau.

He remained where he was for many long minutes. His eyes peaking through squinted eyelids to search the exits and count the weapons and devise many plans but none that he would actually act upon. Run. Running is all he wanted to do.

"_Stay... he needs you. You are all he's got now." Faruq's voice whispered in his head. "Promise Altaïr. Promise you will not run from Malik. Promise."_

Altaïr whimpered out, "I promise…"

How could he ever make this right? All he wanted was Malik's trust. It was gone all over again. How could he ever trust Malik? Would he ever be able to please him? Had he failed forever? How could he make things right?

Altaïr's eyes darted about the room. War seemed to have torn it apart. He took a tentative step and froze listening for Malik's return. It was quiet. Malik had really left the building. Altaïr's teeth chattered unexpectedly and it startled him. He promised not to leave, but that was all he wanted to do now, run far far away and never return. Trapped, he was trapped by commitment and promises. Trapped… like he was with the Master. Were they at all different?

Sometimes he could do smaller things to make things seem a bit right. He had been doing that now and then with Malik and it used to help. He could not right the wrong he had done with Faruq, but he could… maybe… right the room. He reached to pick something up and saw blood. Then the throbbing and pain slammed through his arms and hands. Blood. His breath came shallow again till he forces aside the waved of guilt and realized it was his own blood not an innocent man's. With some focus he shoved aside that pain too till everything was quiet and numb.

His eyes alone searched the room for the box of bandages, compresses, and towels. It was kicked over, its contents scattered in a corner. Altaïr clutched the first couple towels in each fist to soak the blood in his hands. He knelt down, and with a couple fingers sorted the mess for what he thought might be suitable to bandage his hands. He wrapped each palm tightly and with the help of his teeth and a small dagger, he tied and cut the bandages, till he had each hand and each forearm relatively bandaged. Now he would not be adding to the mess in the room. Malik liked things super clean.

Everything felt a little surreal as he replaced the furnishings and placed books back in the order he knew Malik liked, alphabetical by subject. It progressed very mechanically till most things were in their places and broken things were collected in a box to discard. Maybe Malik will feel less mad when everything is as it should be. As it should be? What was that?

Altaïr picked up a jar shard and noticed fresh drops of blood. He was sure he had wiped it all up already. Confused he looked about. His sleeves had been pushed up above his elbows and the bandages were doing their job there for the most part. The blood stained through them but they were not soaked through. He looked to each palm. There… they were bleeding through the bandages in his right hand. He held a towel fisted tightly to try to stop the bleeding and used that same towel to wipe the blood from the floor.

A wave of dizziness caused him to teeter a moment and he gulped air that seemed too thin. He felt like he was in the hot sun till he stood and felt like someone dumped cold water over him. His stomach flipped over and he lurched to the little kitchen and waste area. He sagged to the floor clutching the edges of the grill to the sewage. He pressed his face to the cool stones and metal of the grill panting as his stomach flipped over a few more times threateningly. He dared not move.

* * *

A/N #2: That was the proverbial kissing toilet after a BAD drug trip. Sorry, no art…


	68. Chapter 68: Malik Bridges the Gap

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Some suggested that I post less often to avoid burn-out and to have back-up chapters for when I might get writer's block. I would have replied directly to that person if they had a FF account. I choose to post as often as I am to get this out of my system. Also, the feedback from reviewers helps me steer the story a little. Readers are part of the story creation. Read at your own speed. I won't be deleting it. It will still be here. I will write and post at my speed. I might slow down once someone is here to be a beta reader for me. For now… enjoy!

* * *

A wave of dizziness caused him to teeter a moment and he gulped air that seemed too thin. He felt like he was in the hot sun till he stood and felt like someone dumped cold water over him. His stomach flipped over and he lurched to the little kitchen and waste area. He sagged to the floor clutching the edges of the grill to the sewage. He pressed his face to the cool stones and metal of the grill panting as his stomach flipped over a few more times threateningly. He dared not move.

Malik moved through the big room slowly as he thought through all that has happened. It pained him terribly to think about Faruq now. Truth, though, was that someone inside the brotherhood ordered that death and did so in such a secret way as to drug someone to do it for them. That meant they could not do it themselves. Maybe they were not actually an assassin. Malik's mind was busy puzzling out the new mystery.

He paused at the gate. Everything was so quiet. _Altaïr must have run again. I guess I can't blame him…_ Malik felt horribly alone. He dreaded stepping through the fake wall into the back knowing the chaos he left there that he would have to clean. Altaïr is likely out on a frantic out of control run somewhere, ill equipped physically and certainly mentally. Malik thought where Altaïr would likely go and catalogued the things he would need to maybe go after him. Altaïr would go to the devil he knew best… Al Mualim in Masyaf.

Malik lifted the curtain ad stepped inside the back room. There was no Altaïr. There was however not the room he had left. Most things were where they ought to be. There was blood all over the corner of a bed mat and little splashes on the wall. _Oh gods… I cut him up. By Allah… where the hell is he?_

He dashed back out to the souk, but there were no blood drops or smears. He could not have climbed out then. Not that way. Maybe he took the stairs out then. He dashed back into the room stepping into the little hidden kitchen and freezing in his place. There was Altaïr on the floor hugging the waste grill and panting. Clammy sweat beaded his face and dampened his hair and his shirt. His hood was pushed back for more air. His arms and hands were poorly bandaged and there were bloody hand prints on the raised stones they held the grill in place. "Altaïr…"

Just saying his name made the man tense. That resulted in his stomach violently rebelling. Malik stepped around him into the kitchen to get a cup of water to add some mint extract to and to soak a cloth in cool water. _I did this… I drugged him… I made him remember… and then I… did this to him…_ Malik winced to himself. He let out a slow breath. _How badly have I ruined the Great Eagle? Did I push him over the edge after Al Mualim readied him for that edge? He better not think of taking a leap. _

He set the cup on the stone ledge near Altaïr and then carefully laid the cool cloth on the back of Altaïr's neck. The movements and the contact made him throw up again. Malik knew it was because of the drugs last night. Whatever details Altaïr remembered of it likely did not help. He started to set up the medical supplies to treat the wounds he inflicted when he saw that many of the jars and bottles were gone and there were many drops of blood all over the rolls of bandages and towels. It worried him how badly he might have hurt Altaïr. They've fought before, but never like that. They never gave each other anything worse than bruises, black eyes and bloody noses. In a box of things that were broken and to be tossed were many bloody rags, towels and discarded bandages from Altaïr's attempts to self-heal. Malik winced again.

He heard Altaïr moving a little and spitting out the water he rinsed his mouth with. Malik quietly showed up beside Altaïr. He reached to help him and Altaïr pulled away. "Altaïr. I won't… I won't hurt you." How could Altaïr trust that after what happened. The words seemed useless, but that is all Malik had to work with. He held out a towel, "Hold this, you're bleeding." Everything seemed awkward. Every word, every action. They practically didn't know each other anymore. They had done things to the other that were both forgivable and not at the same time. That chasm between them gaped so wide that Malik heard his soul's call echo hollowly hack at him.

After a few agonizing minutes, Altaïr finally accepted the towel, but kept as much distance as he could manage between him and Malik. As Altaïr edged past Malik into the private sleeping room, he used one finger to curl around the edge of his hood and pull it up over his head. The used the same finger to curl around the pointed peak and tug it down over his eyes.

Malik was unsure what Altaïr had not run, and yet knew he was likely too unwell to run. Or Altaïr had enough good sense to know his wounds were too hindering. Malik left to retrieve the box Tibah had dropped off. He especially needed those supplies now. Accepting anything from her now was a message. He'd have to address this with her soon, or with her father. He'd have to do something about her before it leaked back to Al Mualim and a contract got put out for her… and her family.

"Sit down, Altaïr." Malik tried to sound as gentle as he could.

It sickened him when Altaïr mumbled back, "yes, Malik."

Malik thought it was as bad as if Altaïr had said 'yes master' and had no idea how to deal with that. In hindsight, he recalled that Altaïr had been acting around him entirely like this all month he was here. Malik wanted to slam his palm into his own face at the belated realization. In light of what AL Mualim had done to Altaïr, no wonder Altaïr had sexually tried to please Malik. It was an expectation. Malik wanted to groan but saved the feeling to add it to his growing hatred of the Master of the Order. No one would ever believe that Altaïr, the Great Master Assassin Altaïr, was a victim of physical and sexual abuse enslaving him to Al Mualim. Al Mualim would completely deny it too. These were hard and dark secrets.

Malik moved the little writing table back by Altaïr and laid a towel across it. The low table allowed for a bit of a barrier between them and Malik noted how Altaïr relaxed his shoulders some as he set his poorly bandaged arms on the table. Altaïr still gripped the towel with both hands. Malik selected new bottles of disinfectant, alcohol, ointments, waxed thread, and needles and piled some rolls of new bandages nearby. Then he collected fresh cloths for washing making a mental note that laundry desperately needed doing now.

There were no words exchanged between them. What could possibly be said anyway? Malik removed the bandages from around each of Altaïr's arms. He refrained from tisking. Reminding himself that HE inflicted this set, he clenched his jaw and washed the wounds in silence. Malik glanced at Altaïr often to gauge how he was coping. Every muscle was rock hard with tension, almost to the point of shaking, except his arms. Altaïr hissed when the disinfecting liquid stung surprisingly but then shunted the pain away as he always did. Malik stitched each forearm feeling like Faruq when Faruq stitched Altaïr's face so long ago. Altaïr made no other sounds or movements just accepted what was happening to him as if he was a doll and his mind was gone elsewhere. That too sickened Malik. Altaïr had learned to do this by the time he was ten… in two years of being Masyaf with Al Mualim.

Malik rested his hand over the back of one of Altaïr's. Altaïr let go of the towel with that hand and let Malik strip off the blood soaked bandages. This time Malik hissed in sympathy. He sighed and got to work. As he bandaged the first hand after it was stitched, he felt something drop onto his hand. It was clear like water. He frowned and finished tying off the bandage. He worked gently, as gently as he could on Altaïr's other hand. Again a drop fell upon him as he was stitching. He paused in the stitching and looked at Altaïr's face. All he could see was the hood pulled far over his eyes and his head dipped so Malik could hardly even see his chin and jaw. He looked back down and finished the stitching. This time as he was bandaging, he saw a drop fall, then another to hit the towel. "Altaïr…" The hood turned to try to hide further. Malik finished bandaging the hand and moved the table and supplies aside.

Altaïr just sat there, hands limp in his lap. Malik moved to sit a little close in front of Altaïr now that the table was moved. Altaïr tensed and turned his head aside. Malik saw clearly the drops of water now forming in the stubble of Altaïr's jaw and dripping off. Malik reached up and pressed his hand to the wet cheek. "Altaïr."

"Malik." Altaïr's voice was so thick with emotion it made Malik swallow the lump that formed in his own throat. "I never would have done it if I knew. I… I never would have…"

Malik wished he had a second hand to wipe his own eyes. He slid his hand along Altaïr's cheek and pushed the hood off. Altaïr's eyes were scrunched shut, wet streaks stained cleanly down his dusty stubbly cheeks. He leaned forward and touched his brow to Altaïr's. He whispered, "I know… it took me some time to realize, but I know. "What I don't know is who drugged you? Who ordered you to kill him? And why? Why Faruq?" Malik allowed himself a few moments of grieving with Altaïr before he spoke brokenly again, "Why do this… to us?"

* * *

A/N #2: Sorry, no art…


	69. Chapter 69: Altair Starts to Talk

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Talking is slow... trust will be slower...

* * *

Malik leaned forward and touched his brow to Altaïr's. He whispered, "I know… it took me some time to realize, but I know. What I don't know is who drugged you? Who ordered you to kill him? And why? Why Faruq?" Malik allowed himself a few moments of grieving with Altaïr before he spoke brokenly again, "Why do this… to us?"

Altaïr could not understand Malik's compassion and gentleness. All through the stitching and bandaging Altaïr willed the pain away, but the emotions he could not. And he couldn't use his hands to wipe his own face. He wanted to cringe and pull away from Malik when the hand invaded his hood. But he found himself leaning into that hand desperately seeking... something. His emotions were laid bare when the hood was pushed back. He could see that Malik was really feeling much the same. This... this he could trust. He had no one else to turn to. Neither did Malik.

"Faruq... was in the fog." Altaïr fumbled through his thoughts and memories. "He waited... till I remembered."

Malik pulled back to puzzle out this new information and temper his emotions. Altaïr took that moment to bring his hands up to wipe his face. Malik stopped him and used his sleeve to wipe Altaïr's face. It felt weird having someone else do that. "Tell me about the fogs, Altaïr?"

"They started coming again." Altaïr was worried Malik would think he was crazy, but he needed to tell someone, even if it came out sounding insane. The details he wanted to write down. That shocked him, wanting... actually wanting... to write. "After I killed the first of the nine on my mission list. The fog just comes. Blocks out everything. Everything but my target and me. Their dying spirit speaks things. Things that don't make sense." He thought he himself didn't make sense.

Malik just watched his face and listened. So Altaïr hesitantly continued, "The first, Tamir told me he was one of many brothers. Garbier believed, really believed he was helping people, healing the already insane. Talal was not trading slaves, but taking prisoners, homeless, sick and unwanted people and yes... enslaving them, but was that wrong? He gave them homes and purpose. He told me I had walled off my mind as our Brothers were so good at doing..." Altaïr shook his head. It got all confusing after that. "They say so many things in the fog."

In the silence that started to grow between them, Malik asked, "My brother... you said Faruq spoke to you in the fog?"

Altaïr nodded. "He said... he and Kadar are in good hands. Said... he was proud of who you are. That I should tell you." He heard Malik choke up. "He knows there is someone in our Brotherhood who is a traitor and bade us figure out who. He made me promise not to... not... not to run from you."

Altaïr stared at his bandaged hands. "I sound like a madman. But the things in the fog. The things the dying have said. As much as it makes no sense, sometimes it seems like it makes too much sense and I wonder. I question. I am not always sure I did the right thing. It isn't black and white anymore."

"Have you mentioned these to Al Mualim?" Malik asked.

"Yes," Altaïr glanced at Malik and dropped his eyes again. He felt like he was being judged. Malik took hold of Altaïr's chin and lifted it. Altaïr met his eyes and continued, "He explains it all to me and also makes sense. But I am still confused."

This honest talking was hard. Altaïr felt naked in uncomfortable ways. He had kept all this and much more secret. Now he was leaking it out a little. Wasn't this what he wanted to do?

"You are not crazy, Altaïr." Malik withdrew his hand from Altaïr's chin. "And... I believe you."

"What do I do, Malik? Tell me what do do..."

The look that came into Malik's eyes was the one Altaïr was much more used to. It was the knowledgeable look of one who knew exactly what the next steps were. "You go back and continue your missions. Find out everything you can. Listen to everyone in Masyaf. Learn like you do here. And... come to me in between. We'll figure out everything together."

This was like a huge weight lifted from him. Altaïr thought he might float away. Then he found Malik's eyes staring at his own. They bore through him and rooted him in place, kept him grounded. He dropped his eyes to his wounded arms and hands.

Malik changed the subject, "You need a shave. I don't expect you to let me after... but... I'll ask anyways. Will you let me shave you? Since you won't be holding much for a couple days?"

Altaïr felt Malik's fingers brush his cheek. He flinched a little, but consented. If Malik still hated him and blamed him, he would use this moment to kill Altaïr. But somehow, Altaïr figured Malik would not do so. Was Faruq right? Did Malik love him? He doubted that. _I am a tool to find a traitor. It is just another mission, a more complicated pone, but not much different. In the end, someone will die._

_

* * *

_

A/N #2: Sorry, no art…


	70. Chapter 70: Malik Offers Turkish Coffee

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Victory in small things...

* * *

Altaïr felt Malik's fingers brush his cheek. He flinched a little, but consented. If Malik still hated him and blamed him, he would use this moment to kill Altaïr. But somehow, Altaïr figured Malik would not do so. Was Faruq right? Did Malik love him? He doubted that. _I am a tool to find a traitor. It is just another mission, a more complicated one, but not much different. In the end, someone will die._

Malik noted how Altaïr would tense, flinch and avert his eyes. He felt back at square one in the trust department. He collected the items to shave the stubbliness from Altaïr and sat back in front of him. As much as Altaïr had consented to being shaved, Malik saw how Altaïr eyed the straight razor and watched every single motion with great wariness. "Maybe... Maybe we'll just let you be stubbly for a few more days. You can shave yourself then." Malik didn't miss the quiet sigh but pretended too.

He pout everything away again and instead asked if Altaïr felt up to having something to eat. The awkwardness between them felt a thousand-fold. It made Malik fidgety. He watched Altaïr fumble with some flatbread and hummus while he finished cleaning things and sorting the new box of supplies. Tibah's timing was impeccable. Malik glanced toward the notebooks with the trance writing in them and decided he did not want to look at them when Altaïr was here. He didn't trust his own temper and Altaïr was especially skittish.

The next couple days were like this. It pained Malik to know he was not trusted on a personal level. It pained him more when Altaïr chose to sleep in the souk. The clear statement of distrust and discomfort was salt and lemon juice on the guilt wounds he bore. He tried to keep the Bureau open as scribe and map work. He tried to set back his routine of training in the evenings. He tried to keep busy. It was like being alone all over again and not because company was close, but avoiding him except when he checked on the wounded. They healed well under his almost obsessive care.

Altaïr even started to fumble with writing again just to regain dexterity in his fingers. When Altaïr grew frustrated and slammed the journal shut for his fumbling one evening, Malik brought over a roughly bound bunch of pages. "Altaïr, why don't you read instead. I'd like if you would read this aloud for me while I work on this map for my client. Will you?" It was a ploy to get Altaïr to practice reading, but was also a ploy to get to hear Altaïr speak since the silence almost made Malik want to scream at him.

He set up his map work in the back room to lounge as he worked and then prepared something in the kitchen that filled the whole building with an odd but exquisite smell. Altaïr was too bored and frustrated with not being able to use his hands that he was willing to read out loud just to alleviate that for a little while. He muttered as much a few times while Malik made his brew as well as a mint tea for Altaïr who seemed to like the mint tea. Malik was no longer sure what Altaïr liked or disliked anymore, except bananas. Altaïr never voiced his likes or dislikes. _I should have asked him some of those kinds of question,_ Malik thought selfishly.

Listening to Altaïr read out loud was somewhat painful and torturous, like listening to a small child read something too difficult for their reading level. It was halting and stumbling, sounding out some words. It made the written word salad seem like choir music. Malik didn't complain. Altaïr however did with a gruff slamming shut of the makeshift book.

"Try with a feather, Altaïr, to guide you," suggest Malik as he retrieved his brew from the little kitchen stove. Altaïr sniffed the air at the strange smell. It reminded Malik of when they were children and Malik would introduce him often to strange foods and drinks, sometimes just to see Altaïr's reaction.

Altaïr took one of the feather quills and tried again to read aloud, he tugged his hood down over his eyes a bit to hide his embarrassment. Malik fought the urge to throw back that hood, but he wanted to try to reclaim a tiny bit of the trust that had been lost between them. He sipped his brew with a sigh of pleasure. Altaïr instantly stopped reading and looked over.

"It is Turkish coffee done the Romanian way with much sugar. Both are expensive but so worth it once in a while. I'm not sure you will like it. You never liked things that were very sweet before. But, if you want, you may try it." Malik offered his own half sipped cup over to Altaïr, eyes it then Malik then it several times before finally accepting it from Malik's hand. He held it a bit awkwardly in his bandaged hands. Malik sat up straighter anticipating Altaïr's reaction and wondering what that reaction would be.

Altaïr sniffed the cup slowly. The fact that he did this a couple times already informed Malik that Altaïr liked the smell. "But this is your cup, Malik." Altaïr was unsure about taking something from Malik. Malik reassured him that is was more than fine if Altaïr wanted to sip from it. He watched as Altaïr took a small mouthful and swallows and instantly recoiled. Malik chuckled lightly. It earned him a sharp look from Altaïr. He always loved that recoil reaction to new strong flavours. Altaïr more carefully took a second sip. The rule always was to try it twice. He recoiled again, but less so as he held the bitter yet sweet coffee in his mouth. He took a third sip more gingerly and then held the cup back to Malik.

"No no, you can have the rest if you like it." Malik was surprised Altaïr seemed to like this. It was much sweeter than most things Altaïr used to ingest. "Do you like it?" Altaïr's hood bobbed a couple times as he nodded. Malik almost cheered. He felt like he just had a major victory! He encouraged Altaïr to start over and to keep reading, helping him now and then with the complicated words, which were all in were all in Greek.

* * *

A/N #2: Sorry, still no art…


	71. Chapter 71: Altair Reads the Mystery

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – IT'S ALL GREEK TO ME! *snicker*

* * *

"No no, you can have the rest if you like it." Malik was surprised Altaïr seemed to like this. It was much sweeter than most things Altaïr used to ingest. "Do you like it?" Altaïr's hood bobbed a couple times as he nodded. Malik almost cheered. He felt like he just had a major victory! He encouraged Altaïr to keep reading, helping him now and then with the complicated words.

Altaïr read the Greek line awkwardly, though a little less so with the aid of the feather as a line to follow, and translated each line. It was still painfully halting, but Something in what Malik asked him to read seemed deeply important. Altaïr wanted to read it because Malik asked him to. He wanted to please Malik, even if it was humiliating.

"Whoever find the... the... ex- explanation of these words will not ... taste death." This sounded like the Taoist text about alchemy and longevity elixirs he acquired for the Master, until he read on. "Let him you ... seeks... not ceases seeking until he finds. And ... when... when he finds, he will be troubled?" Malik nodded to Altaïr and encouraged him to keep reading. "When he finds, he will be troubled. And when he has been troubled, he will... will... marvel and he will reign over the all."

Altaïr looked up from the book and sipped some of the strange brew, bracing himself almost comically for the potent taste. The he read on in this esoteric text. "If those who... lead you say the... Kingdom is in heaven, then the birds will... precede you. If they say the Kingdom is in... the sea, then the fish will precede you." Altaïr pushed his hood back a bit to see the text better. He glanced at Malik from the corner of his eye thinking how this text already sounded crazy like his own thoughts.

"But the Kingdom is... within you... and... without you." Altaïr frowned puzzled. Malik offered no enlightenment. "But if you... know yourselves, then you will be known... and you will know that you are sons of the... living father." Altaïr tilted his head and read the text silently again before continuing. "But if you do not know yourselves then you are... in... in..." Malik helped there and he read on, "poverty and you are poverty."

Already annoyed with not wholly understanding and yet sensing it was all very important, he flipped a couple pages and read another part. "When you make the inside like the outside... and the outside like the inside... and the above like the below, and when you make the male and the female one... then will you enter the Kingdom." The last part made him think Malik gave him a strange spiritual sex text... but the inside outside lines made him murmur, "As above... so below... as within... so without..." It was starting to make sense in what Altaïr already considered an insane mind.

Malik nodded and instructed, "Go to the forty-eighth verse."

Altaïr turned several pages and started to read, curiosity almost heard in his voice, "When two make... peace... with each other in this one house... they will say to... the mountain... 'Move !' and it will move."

"That is my one of my favourite lines," confessed Malik.

Altaïr repeated the line and thought about it for a few moments. He wanted to ask something but his curiosity lead him to flip several more pages to read another verse. "If you... bring forth what is within you, what you have will... save you... If you do not have that within you... what you do not have within you will kill you." He thought hard and then murmured again, "As within, so without."

Malik nodded and he flipped through seeking another verse along with Malik's approval. "I am... the Light that... falls on all things. I am the All. From Me the All has... gone out and to Me the All... came back. C... C... cleave? Cleave a piece of wood, and I am there... Lift up a stone, and You will find Me." Malik was whispering the same line with Altaïr.

Altaïr closed the rough book and quoted already by heart, "When two make peace with each other in this one house, they will say to the mountain, 'Move !' and it will move." He said this while looking right at Malik, "Will we ever have peace?"

* * *

A/N #2: Reading... So you might have wondered what Altaïr was reading. Bonus ethereal cookies if you can figure it out!


	72. Chapter 72: Malik Releases the Eagle

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – I really ought to be working on my Religion Thesis on Conversion Theory. Just... this story is so fun. Time to move forward...

* * *

Altaïr closed the rough book and quoted already by heart, "When two make peace with each other in this one house, they will say to the mountain, 'Move !' and it will move." He said this while looking right at Malik, "Will we ever have peace?"

Listening to Altaïr read was painful, but Malik exercised patience. Watching Altaïr have little epiphanies as he read and think about each verse while sipping the Turkish coffee was a tiny piece of heaven for Malik. He could not help quoting softly as Altaïr read. When Altaïr quoted an earlier line already by heart, is surprised Malik.

Then came that question.

"Will we?" asked Altaïr again when Malik didn't answer.

Malik licked his lips not sure whether Altaïr meant peace in regards to the war between the Assassins, Saracens and Templars or between them with their over-complicated relationship. Malik chose to answer both vaguely and honestly, "I'm not sure, Altaïr."

He approached Altaïr and noted the initial flinch and wary gaze. Malik waited. When Altaïr relaxed Malik unbandaged the arms and hands to inspect them again. "Let's leave your arms unbandaged to heal. I think the stitches can come out tomorrow for those." He inspected Altaïr's hands critically trying to pretend these wounds were inflicted by someone else. He cleaned the wounds and placed the wood disks he was using to help Altaïr keep his hands and fingers in the correct positions for healing. "These need a couple more days." He rebandaged them.

"Malik... I need..."

"I know. You need to get back to Masyaf. You are overdue." It was the guess Malik made on what Altaïr was going to say. It was the logical thing. Malik had already received a bird's message from AL Mualim wondering if Altaïr was on his way back or dead. "Tomorrow, you can go tomorrow. Be easy on the stitching on your hands and you can remove the threads when you get to Masyaf. Then slowly work back up to your skills."

Altaïr kept his silence. He slept that night again in the souk watching Malik train with a sword in the large room at night. In the morning after breakfast, Malik removed the stitches in Altaïr's arms. The scars were neat thin lines that with luck may even fade to almost nothing. The stitches in Altaïr would have to stay. Malik washed and salved them and rebandaged them, but without the disks.

The said nothing to one another as Altaïr tied on his armour. Malik felt sick to his stomach knowing Altaïr was going to be in close proximity to AL Mualim. And yet, that man was one of the best leaders of the Brotherhood. It was contradiction or a paradox. Yet, maybe Malik could understand that some people have foul vices, but can still do great things. It did not excuse what he had done to Altaïr, but Altaïr WAS the best and most dangerous assassin because of it. Do the ends justify the means? Maybe in AL Mualim's world, but not in Malik's.

Malik watched Altaïr struggle a little with the climb through the souk roof. He hoped Altaïr took the journey to Masyaf slowly and used every opportunity along the way to train and regain what he lost while healing. He wrote a small note to AL Mualim and coaxed a pigeon over with some honeyed seeds. Malik never caged his birds. They seemed content enough to be there with him. He only wished the same were true of Altaïr. He sighed as he tied the note in place and sent the bird on its way, letting Al Mualim know that Altaïr was in flight. _The eagle is coming home._

The Bureau was once again empty leaving Malik all alone. He had a whole year to get used to this, and the past twenty some odd days tore apart his routine and gave him company he did not want to let go of. In hindsight, he realized he had not asked Altaïr to come back. He wanted Altaïr to return between missions. He kicked his counter in dejected frustration.

Malik busied himself through the days doing the piles and piles of laundry, fixing uniforms (mostly or entirely Altaïr's), sorting his medical supplies... for the fiftieth time. He transcribed some of the popular prayers that people asked for to have them ready. He even started on a second map of Acre. He trained himself with weapons at night, as if he could sense a certain need that he will have to use them in the future. _Just because I have one arm does not mean I cannot still be deadly with a sword._

When he felt depressed and too alone he took up his informant's invitation and visited. It was like briefly being in a whole other world of smells and noise. A little girl of four climbing into his lap to babble about the birds in their coup and even dragging Malik by his empty sleeve up there to see them. She had names for them all. It was a good break. The news the informant and his wife had was of their new unborn child. Malik left there feeling almost content, and thinking about the time he and Altaïr considered children. That was silly... and it saddened him that the likelihood was nil now.

He returned to the Bureau and stared at the pile of notebooks full of the trance writing. His eyes saw the soft journal on the top. He had wanted Altaïr to write more in that one, to know Altaïr's current thoughts and feelings. He braced himself and promised an hour or so before bed each night to go through these, all of them, no matter how awful. His thoughts constantly wandered to Altaïr on the road and wondered when and if he would ever see him again. If... he stabbed that thought out of his head. If would mean Altaïr died on mission... maybe died as his brother did... on mission. He could not think that.

_If you love something, set it free... if it returns to you, it is yours... if it doesn't, it never was._

Altaïr was in Masyaf, licking Al Mualim's boots so to speak, and learning of his next targets. Nine... Altaïr had three yet to deal with.

* * *

A/N #2: To all you who wondered and guessed. Malik had Altaïr reading from an forbidden copy of a Greek translation of the Coptic text of the Gospel of Thomas.


	73. Chapter 73: Altair Arrives in Masyaf

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Who does Altaïr belong to?

A/N #2 – OMG! Someone commented about a kitty Altair. I had to... absolutely HAD to find a pic:  
http:/ liikuma .deviantart .com/art/AC-dawwwww-161945108

A/N #3 – I know this chapter took longer than usual to come out. I was working on schoolwork that was time sensitive and then this chapter twisted and became very hard to write.

* * *

Altaïr was in Masyaf, licking Al Mualim's boots so to speak, and learning of his next targets. Nine... Altaïr had three yet to deal with.

It took him the better part of a week to travel. Altaïr Honestly did as Malik advised. He rode hard, then rested, then toughened himself up and trained, then rested more before the next day's ride. He wanted to be in full form when he arrived in Masyaf.

He knew by the time he was sleeping in some hay a day away from Masyaf that he was still too weak for a full fight. He removed his arm guards and wrist knife and then his gloves. They laid in his lap while he stared at his palms. He had tried so hard to not think of Malik the entire way... home... Masyaf did not feel like home. Nowhere really did, except maybe that Bureau he had stayed in for a solid twenty-two days. It was safe. Even with Malik's temper. He had hurt Malik in unforgivable ways. Whatever Malik did to him was deserved. Everything else made little sense and filled his head with questions.

So many questions were sown in the fertile soil of the fog. He clenched his fists and leaned back in the hay. The stars twinkled above him. He thumped his fists a couple times on his chest wishing the ache in there would subside and the emptiness be filled. The master will fill some of it. He always did. He offered punishments as well as comfort. He offered answers to the many questions, even as he inspired more questions.

Altaïr wondered if there was a god or if there was many or none at all. He wondered if anyone looked down upon them and saw the victories and the sins. He wondered if they were counting. He wondered... wondered what become of his life after these nine lives. Would his life be his own? Would he be the hunting bird for the Master again on a new quest?

He rolled onto his side and took a small knife to poked at the thread of the stitches on each hand. They weren't ready to come out, but maybe tomorrow. Would there ever be peace between him and Malik? Peace, that was what the Assassins fought for. He wondered if the originator of the order Hassan would approve of the Master's leadership. The Master was getting old, but he was still surprisingly strong. Maybe that was due to the texts about the Chinese Taoist elixir Altaïr had retrieved.

The hay was prickly. It itched and reminded him how much he missed the soft carpets and pillows of Malik's souk. Even the bed mat was soft. He rolled over again. Sitting up in frustration he tied his blade, gloves and guards back on. The things that transpired between him and Malik were pushed back into a corner of his mind and locked down tightly.

He mounted the horse and walked it into Masyaf. Like a dangerous predator, Altaïr moved from shadow to shadow through the city. Most were asleep. Those on night watch barely noted his passing. Some watched him with the usual hatred. He climbed a building for a better view of the city and let his mind relax and his vision blur a little so those strange colors overlaid the people that were out. Shades of blue and while shined back at him. However, the shimmers and were unstable, flickering red sometimes. Altaïr blinked and rubbed his eyes. He was tired and it was very late.

He climbed the long hilly route to the fortress that housed assassins and the library. He wondered if the Master would be pleased with his successes and able to answer the confusing questions that bothered him. The training ring in the courtyard was quiet. He passed through the great doors into the library. Scholars were still working through their studies. Some things never seemed to change. He paused at the bottom of the stairs. Two turning flights would bring him to the main desk of the Master. Altaïr wondered if the Master was at the desk, or in his study or in the private room off the private study. A silent peak out into the fancy gardens told Altaïr that the Master was definitely not there. He stalled only a little longer before climbing the stairs. Why he felt so much anxiety, he didn't really know. He was successful in his mission. The Master should be pleased.

A stony bearded face lifted as the single black-brown eye of Al Mualim met Altaïr across the desk. The Master stood, his cane slamming on the desk's hard oak surface. "I hear your mission was mostly a success."

_Mostly?_ Altaïr snarled, "It WAS a success. How can you say mostly? The regent is dead!"

"I see you still hold too much torment in your heart, Altaïr. You are quick to judge." The Master studied the indignant Altaïr a few moments. Altaïr dropped his eyes allowing the hood to hide his features. "I say mostly, because you clearly exposed yourself so much that you exposed us and nearly died for it. You were healing for a full passing of the moon. We missed some good opportunities."

Altaïr clenched his fists. Why can't the Master just be pleased? "Recite the tenets of our Creed, Altaïr. Clearly you need reminding."

After gritting his teeth, he bit out defiantly the lines of the Creed. It earned him the end of the Master cane on the side of his head. The Master still could move swiftly and he never missed. Altaïr was already counting the divots the stone floor where he had fallen from the hit, waiting for another strike.

"Get up Altaïr. Go into the study. If you are going to behave like an arrogant teen, then I will treat you like the one you were." There was a whooshing sound as the cane arced through the air to point to the study.

Altaïr wondered how many bruises he would have from this lesson and what it was going to be. He felt though that he could handle it. In silence, he would take it as he plotted an... accident. The Master followed him into the study, closed and locked the door behind him.

"Peace, Altaïr, starts within."

Altaïr murmured, "As within, so without..."

"Exactly! Now, show me your wounds. Recite the Creed as you do so... repeatedly until you can say it and feel it peacefully from within and have it emanate from you." He slid a curtain aside that lead to the waste and bathing room. A tub filled with cool water was prepared with towels for washing. "There will be a new uniform for you. You are filthy."

Altaïr tensed unable to move at first, then slowly taking off each piece of clothing and armour. At the slam of the cane on the study's table with a map painted into it, Altaïr started to recite the Creed through clenched teeth. The still water of the bath was a threat in the corner of his eye. He ripped his focus from it and removed clothing still while reciting over and over the Creed. He felt like a prize horse stripped of bridle and gear being inspected. The Master walked around him, can lightly poking the new scars. When asked to recite what superseded the Creed, Altaïr replied, "Nothing is true and everything is permitted." He was asked to repeat this. Altaïr did so as he shoved all his thoughts and senses aside, allowing himself to be numb and passive, as if not wholly there, wishing he were not there for this. It had been almost a year since he endured this.


	74. Chapter 74: Malik Sorts the Insanity 1

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – So begins unravelling the mysteries of the notebooks.

* * *

Altaïr replied, "Nothing is true and everything is permitted." He was asked to repeat this. Altaïr did so as he shoved all his thoughts and senses aside, allowing himself to be numb and passive, as if not wholly there, wishing he were not there for this. It had been almost a year since he endured this.

Malik had reluctantly rolled up the spare bed mat and shoved it hard into a corner between the wall and a shelf for later use. He removed and folded his black Dai robe so that he sat only in his pants and sleeveless hooded tunic. His clothes differed due to his rank from Altaïr's. Altaïr had a sleeveless tunic he wore over a long sleeved shirt and a separate hood that was more like a cowl over the shoulders like the monks. Malik could wear a shirt under his sleeveless tunic but preferred not to since he wore Dai robes over his tunic. His tunic had a thin attached hood.

He stared at the pile of notebooks and journals, yet untouched. He had promised himself to look through them a couple hours before bed each night and found he did not have the will to open them. Five days had passed and he ran out of excuses. The current debate was whether to start with the insanity of the past or start with the insanity of the present. The goal was to be able to help Altaïr when Altaïr returned. It was his mantra, _Altaïr will come back to me._

He wondered what kind of man would come back. Altaïr had been changing each time he showed up. Stripping him of rank and forcing him to learn the ways of the Assassins was the very best thing AL Mualim could have done for Altaïr, as far as Malik was concerned. Altaïr was more mature now and understood more, he thought about his actions and their consequences more. There were traces of the youth he cherished, and fading traces of the arrogant ass that ruined his life. What Altaïr was become was something maybe closer to who he really ought to be, who he was inside striving for freedom and at the same time terrified to just be. No wonder Altaïr became fond of _'As above, so below. As within, so without.'_

"As within... so without..."

Malik picked up the first of the notebooks and firmly decided that the best way to help Altaïr was to understand what he missed in their growing up. German was the first language used. So Altaïr was German by birth of a Christian mother and a Muslim or Arab father. That would explain his easy grip of both German and Arabic when they met. If he was from a wealthy family, then he would have had fine teachers and learned Greek and Latin and Hebrew. Everything after that was taught to them all in Masyaf. An Assassin, according to the old Creeds was to be able to blend in perfectly with any people, thus had to be fluent in every language they could.

The old Creed... There had been a split among the Assassins almost a hundred years ago. The first manifestation of the Order was suicide killers who made public displays of their targets. In a way that still held true. A target should be removed in as public a setting as you could so you can leave a clear message. Hassan, the founder, though was a fanatic. After him, two men fought for the control of the order. The Assassins were born out of the battle. It was there that history grew fuzzy. Hassan's followers and the religious seekers of peace went separate ways. Though now that Malik thought about it, he was not sure who they served. The man who lead the order in Masyaf did not live very long, but had started to put into a place intense training systems in all fields of study. Scholars, rafiqs and the Dai were formed as was the organization and training of the informants. Malik wanted to know more. Needed to know more. He suspected that Al Mualim drew the two groups back together somehow. Al Mualim's leadership, even at the young age that he took over was astounding, brilliant. They really would not be what they were now without him. He was the grand master. Despite what he may have done, Malik had to remember to trust in Al Mualim. He fought hard for the peace and freedom of all people.

But at what cost?

Malik read on. Altaïr had been retrieved. Malik knew the details of that were in another notebook. He was tempted to seek that information out, but didn't. Not yet. He opened a bottle of ink and started to script in the questions he had asked as he read the answers, hoping he could remember them all. The first few questions and answers were random and shallow yet revealed so much. Retrieved. Altaïr was retrieved. That already said he was considered an object of value and not human with feelings and a soul, just another treasure. Maybe Altaïr was right about Adha as the Chalice, a sacred treasure in a sense. What was Altaïr then? He scribbled his thoughts in the margins. Altaïr saud that Adha had said they were alike, descendants in a way of Those Who Came Before. There were a select few texts about those people, locked in the library of Masyaf. Malik sighed wishing he could get them. He was glad Altaïr only wrote on one side of the page, it allowed Malik to fill the other with more of his thoughts on what he was puzzling out.

A grin flickers through his expression as he read about colors and remembered ha asked what their favourite color was. They shared that in common. "Maybe one day we will, Altaïr. We will each have a unique robe trimmed in gold, mine in black and yours in white." He didn't care that he spoke out loud. Not like anyone was there to complain to him about it. Also, it made him feel a little less alone to hear a voice, even if it was his own. "Guess we are both a little insane, Altaïr."

He read the answer about the knee and wrote in the question. On the blank page, he wrote in Altaïr's first explanation of the knee being from a poor fall and never treated. Then scribbled in his own questions. What happened at age twelve that made Al Mualim force Altaïr to his knees?The fact that Altaïr referred to him repeatedly landing on that knee made Malik wonder if Al Mualim force Altaïr to his knees often or if that was just how Altaïr actually always landed. He tried to think of their training and the few times they did initial missions. Altaïr did tend to land on the right first and drop to his knee before rolling. Was that to favour the injury or just habit? Malik didn't know.

Altaïr's writing shifted language when he described where he ran to. It was in terrible Arabic. Barely legible. All the writing was barely legible, but at least consistent. Malik scribbled a note that maybe Altaïr was a... problem? Somehow he mixes the letters up when he reads or wrote them. It was a consistent mixing up too. That told Malik that no amount of practice was going to help save for neatening up the actual script.

_When writing personal or private things, Altaïr writes in German. When writing something that refers to me, he writes in Arabic, my language of birth._

Malik rubbed his eyes and debated continuing or saving it till later. He skimmed and scribbled in the questions. _Why did you leave me?Why did you try to please me? _

On second thought, Malik wanted to consider both of those. A mix of shame and fear and being tired of fighting those he loved, tired of being punished. Malik surmised that Altaïr likely got verbal jabs from everyone in the Brotherhood. Punished daily by those he should be able to trust, the trust ripped away when he was stripped of rank. Malik thought more carefully about that. Altaïr was stripped of rank only after Malik had recited his statement of what happened at the temple. Malik was sure he was clear about who lead the Templars to Masyaf, yet Altaïr was blamed for it. Altaïr was blamed for everything and made to truly believe it was his fault, strip him down to nothing when he was just starting to become unmanageable. A new puzzle piece clicked into place and Malik cursed aloud.

About the incident of when Altaïr pleased Malik, his cheek burned remembering it. Oh Allah how he enjoyed it and wanted more. And he felt so violated at the same time. Altaïr had honestly thought he had done nothing wrong till after. Somehow the notions of right and wrong actions were twisted and mixed up. No wonder Altaïr had pleaded for help in knowing the difference. He was starting to grapple with moral issues and had no strong foundation of his own on which to base decisions.

Here he stopped. He knew what would come next was not what he was ready to stomach, just yet. He could not remotely imagine Al Mualim doing... forcing... such acts upon Altaïr. The questions would be: did Altaïr want it? Did he come to like it? Malik slammed the notebook shut and decided not to look back till tomorrow. He didn't want ideas to plague his mind right now of what Al Mualim MIGHT be doing to Altaïr.

* * *

A/N #2 – To Sarah: I know Altaïr met Tibah in the market, but that was earlier and near forgotten by Altaïr. Because he did meet her in the market and has had the lovely shock of being caught near naked here in the Bureau and knows she likely is putting several things together and maybe remembers him form the market... is why he had wanted to "deal with her" as he spoke with Malik. Malik does not want her dead and so made Altaïr swear to not touch her and not tell Al Mualim.


	75. Chapter 75: Altair Learn Acceptance YAOI

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – WARNING... **WARNING**... this is a BAD very bad YAOI abuse chapter. You have been WARNED! Rated M for THIS reason!

* * *

Malik slammed the notebook shut and decided not to look back till tomorrow. He didn't want ideas to plague his mind right now of what Al Mualim MIGHT be doing to Altaïr.

Altaïr repeated, "Nothing is true and everything is permitted." Altaïr did so as he shoved all his thoughts and senses aside, allowing himself to be numb and passive, as if not wholly there, wishing he were not there for this. It had been almost a year since he endured this.

"Novice, you need to learn discipline and how to take your orders with grace. Accept your lesson and we will move onto one where you will learn inner bliss. Hopefully peace and the ability to move as one with me, an extension of me in all things." The Master thumped his cane butt on the floor to silence Altaïr. "Kneel."

When Altaïr did not comply, tensing with the memory of this very old lesson he didn't want to relive, the Master's can snapped on his right knee. It buckled and a grunt and the Master shoved Altaïr down onto that knee and held him firm till Altaïr was on both knees compliantly. In a deep breath, Altaïr shoved the pain aside. The cane tapped Altaïr's shoulder, close to his ear that still smarted from the cane's impact earlier.

As the pain subsided, the cold stone of the floor seeped up Altaïr's naked body. It made him shiver before he could fiercely grip control of that. He knew this lesson too well. He never liked it. You had to keep thinking through it. Otherwise, you either bit down and got caned for that, or choked and got caned for that.

"Begin," commanded the Master. "If I am pleased by your acceptance, we will move on to better lessons and then I will let you rest."

From where he knelt, he looked up at the Master. There was no hiding under his hood here. His punishments were the cane or the waiting tub of water. He stiffened as faltering memories crept invasively to the surface of people drowning while he watched. He took a steadying breath wondering where his own fight and willpower went when he entered this room. In this room he felt twelve or fifteen all over again. He reached under the Master's robes with his hands and loosened the strings of the pants. They snagged slightly on the stitches still in his palms. The room felt uncomfortably hot for evening. He closed his eyes and felt the Master shift his weight slightly to lean a hand on the table. Altaïr's jaw clenched against what he knew he was about to do.

Malik would disapprove and say this is wrong. So this must be wrong. Would it be wrong if he did this to Malik? The cane tapped his shoulder to bring him out of his mental drifting and back to his lesson of accepting the Master. Resigned he took hold of the wrinkled shaft with a base of mostly grey curling hairs. The wrinkles slowly smoothed as that shaft grew and stiffened in Altaïr's hands.

"Why are you resisting? Altaïr, if you are going to be the best, you must learn to accept me and my guidance." Al Mualim removed the cane from Altaïr's shoulder so the end tapped onto the floor. "Well? Do you accept me or not?"

That was a loaded question if ever Altaïr had heard one. He answered as he knew he should, "Yes, Master." He tried very hard to not let the offending penis touch the stitches of his palms. First of all, he didn't want the Master displeased by the sensation. Most of all, though, he did not want anything contaminating something Malik had done to him. _Am I becoming contaminated? Is there a way to purify myself of this later?_

Reluctantly, Altaïr opened his mouth as he scrunched his eyes involuntarily. "Relax, Altaïr. Acceptance is a little like surrender. Just like taking that leap of faith." Altaïr breathes slowly, his hot breath warming the Master's member as Altaïr accepted it into his mouth. He had learned a long while ago how to breathe through this, as well as how to relax his throat. "Yes, Altaïr... that is much better... Good boy."

Altaïr's head bobbed slowly back and forth knowing at some point's he'll have to just swallow. Then it was anyone's guess how the Master wished to continue. One ejaculation never ended these lessons. The Master usually had about three, two if Altaïr was very good. Altaïr strived to be very good. He intended to be the best after all.

* * *

A/N #2 – *Shudders at Wrinkly Old Man Penis!*


	76. Chapter 76: Malik and Gnostic Sophia

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – 1192 was a hotbed of many religious movements, all fighting for the Kingdom of Heaven, all with their hands in the treasure chests from the Temple of Solomon beneath Jerusalem.

* * *

Malik slammed the notebook shut and decided not to look back till tomorrow. He didn't want ideas to plague his mind right now of what Al Mualim MIGHT be doing to Altaïr.

Altaïr strove to be very good. He intended to be the best after all.

Malik dreamed all night of the last things he had read in the notebook, of Altaïr shoved to his knees to 'please the Master' as it were. He didn't want to really read that, but he could not stop his eyes. All the next day he worried. He could hardly focus on the map of Acre he was working on. Acre. That was where Altaïr had been retrieved. He almost tore up the map. He took a deep breath and rolled it carefully, shelving it with other maps. He tried to scribe some pretty prayers. Hymns and Psalms were popular among the Christian folks.

Trying hard to distract himself, as boredom lead to worrying, he found something to finally scribe. He spread out a fresh piece of parchment and looked through all the colors of his inks. He selected a muted blue. Onto the parchment he scribed a selection of verses from Wisdom's Call. It was a proverb from the Old Testament of the Christian Bible that originated in the Jewish Mishle Shlomoh, one of the books of Solomon. The barely budding offshoot of Gnostic scholars favoured it and he thought he might try to provide something for them. It would be a gift to them as a way to offer his services, and in turn he could possibly gain some inside knowledge. Proverb 8 was his choices and the lines were selective.

_Choose my instruction instead of silver,  
knowledge rather than choice gold,  
for Wisdom is more precious than rubies,  
and nothing you desire can compare with Her._

_"I, Wisdom, dwell together with prudence;  
I possess knowledge and discretion.  
I love those who love me,  
and those who seek me find me.  
The LORD brought me forth as the first of his works,  
before his deeds of old;  
I was appointed from eternity,  
from the beginning, before the world began.  
Then I was the craftsman at his side.  
I was filled with delight day after day,  
rejoicing always in his presence,  
Now then, my sons, listen to me;  
blessed are those who keep my ways._

_PROVERB 8: Wisdom's Call_

That took him most of the morning. After lunch he brought out a few more inks and quills and a charcoal stick. He illustrated all around the border of the page and added coloured ink to brighten it. Yes, this would make a fine gift.

That occupied his afternoon. When it was dry he rolled it up and sought one of his informants for the location of the Gnostic sect. They had been braving the dangers of Solomon's temple for a century. The Templars invaded a couple times, as did other groups to raid it of its treasures, much as Al Mualim had the Assassins do. There were secrets in there. The Gnostics knew them. Malik wanted to know them too.

He didn't think himself very religious, even though he mostly identified with the Arab Muslims. He attended the Mosques, the Synagogues and the Churches indiscriminately. As he walked through the streets he pondered this. No, Malik didn't think himself a god-fearing man. He definitely didn't consider himself an atheist like Altaïr. Maybe that was part of Altaïr's problem, he had nothing to believe in, no spiritual or religious foundation.

It struck Malik then why he was doing this. Sophia. Wisdom. This was something he could worship in a way. And this was something that might in the end be good for Altaïr as well. He tried not to feel like he was shopping for a god. He rolled his eyes at his own foolish thoughts. No, he was shopping for a god for Altaïr. He had to be honest. All religions had a spiritual core, echoes within each other that made them the same in many ways and only mankind twisted and interpreted the kernels of truth.

His informant gave him some clues discreetly and Malik was again on his way. He stumbled as his thoughts stumbled onto Adha. Altaïr had held, not just held but was on intimate terms with one of the sought after treasures. If his hand was not already occupied holding a scroll, he would have slammed it into his own face. Something stabbed at his own heart, _how could I ever compete with that?_ He shook his head. _I am not competing with Adha. She is gone. I am competing with Al Mualim._ He shook his head again as he walked. That was a horrible and disgusting thought and reminded him of the notebooks he was reading. _I am not competing. We have no relationship. He ended that in Solomon's Temple. I ended it when I cut him up for his honest confession._

He puffed his cheeks as he exhaled. Life was so complicated now. He felt too informed and yet left in the dark at the same time. He had the creed. The creed will have to be his guide.

He knocked on the door to the nondescript building. The old man who answered it shocked him! It was the old Dai! Malik's mouth dropped open. The old man gently tapped Malik's chin and he snapped it shut. "You are not ready for this Malik. Why are you here?"

Malik numbly held out the scroll.

The old Dai took the scroll. "Come find me later if you want to talk. But now is not the time." The old man closed the door before Malik could find his voice. He stood a long while staring at the door.

His life just doubled in its levels of complicated. He retreated back to the Bureau to the comfort of the familiar and recited the Creed as a reminder of what he adhered to. He meditated with incense and a candle after dinner seeking inner peace before opening the notebook. Peace in the world begins with peace and harmony from within.

* * *

A/N #2 – Comments to reviewers:

**Sarah** – Why were you quoting the knee injury sections? I know there is a discrepancy. It was on purpose. Altaïr originally tried to hide the truth from Malik, or might have blocked the truth in his own memory. The truth came out in the drugged session which Malik is sorting and understanding. So... I still don't know why you quoted it.

**MIO HIO** – What is a caramelldensen? Nevermind, I googled it and feel old for not knowing. Someone needs to do a dancing .gif of Altaïr and Malik doing that dance.

**J** – eek! You just squicked me out!


	77. Chapter 77: Altair: Nothing is True YAOI

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – WARNING... **WARNING**... this is a BAD very bad YAOI abuse chapter. You have been WARNED! Rated M for THIS reason! And yes... this is worse than before. Didn't think it could be, did you? Double Yaoi... There are no safe places.

* * *

Malik's life just doubled in its levels of complicated. He retreated back to the Bureau to the comfort of the familiar and recited the Creed as a reminder of what he adhered to. He meditated with incense and a candle after dinner seeking inner peace before opening the notebook. Peace in the world begins with peace and harmony from within.

Altaïr swallowed. He tried hard not to gag and swallowed again before drawing away. He hoped the Master found his acceptance of this lesson pleasing. He did not want to have to submit to that again. He hadn't done this for many years, not this particular lesson. But he supposed that he were stripped to a novice status and relearning lessons that this would be among them. He drew his arm and back of his hand across his mouth to wipe any remnants of the act.

Without looking up for he knew that was forbidden, he could see that his Master was still stiff. Internally he cursed. He was not yet good enough to sate him in the first round. The master hitched his pants back into proper place. "Your acceptance of my guidance is adequate. However," Altaïr winced at the Master's words. "However, I can tell you have not yet found inner peace. Altaïr, holding onto such anger and arrogance will only poison you. This was your folly at Solomon's Temple. This is why you failed, not only me, but Malik and young Kadar as well." Altaïr sank to sitting listening to his crimes again.

"Show me your hands, Altaïr." The command was simple. Altaïr kept his head bowed but turned his palms up. The Master's voice was remarkably gentle, like a comforting father. "These are recent. How did you earn them?"

Altaïr's eyes strayed from one palm to the other. "Malik and I had a... We... I.. We fought." His voice sounded to rough and husky even to his own ears.

The Master raised a grey brow. It seemed odd for it was the one over his blinded eye. Altaïr suspected the Master likely used some kind of sorcery to still see out of it, for he missed very little. "I see. You tried to ask for forgiveness?" Altaïr refused to answer. The whole incident was emotionally painful. The Master gently took both of Altaïr's hands. "When you achieve peace and harmony within. When you learn to move smoothly within your own body and with those around you as one. Then... Then you will find peace and forgiveness. It starts with you Altaïr. Find the peace and forgiveness for yourself, then it will be there from others." He drew Altaïr up to standing. "I suppose I should teach you the next lesson anyways. I think it will help you."

Altaïr was not sure whether to be disappointed or hopeful. The impression was that his skill at pleasing his Master was poor. He knew that already. Of course Al Mualim would know the Altaïr was resisting and didn't truly surrender and accept the lesson. It was a kindness that the Master saw fit to consider Altaïr for a new lesson, one that would help him settle the torment in his mind and heart. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but could not hide the hope in his eyes. Hope, that he might gain inner peace and thus gain Malik's forgiveness. Everything the Master said made perfect sense. It always did.

The Master moved around the room collecting a large soft towel and a jar of what looked like healing salve. He setting the two on the table. This was new for Altaïr. He watched his Master's movements, especially the cane. The room seemed to be cooling and he struggled not to shiver in his nudity. The cane tapped once the table. Altaïr cleared the markers from it and set them in a nearby basket. Al Mualim removed his black robe, neatly folding over a chair. The cane tapped with each step he took. Altaïr found himself counting them to see if the steps were the same. They were. His mind was already slipping into the resigned state of what was to come. Then the cane's tap tap quieted. Altaïr turned to face his Master. Al Mualim was opening the jar of salve.

"Spread the towel over the table, novice. Then give me your hands."

Altaïr obeyed. He spread the towel out over the table. It did little to hide the map he knew too well. He offered his hands again to his Master who rubbed some of the salve into them. It tingled slightly, but that was all. The cane tapped the table twice. Altaïr turned his back on his Master and placed his hands on the towel covered heavy oak surface. He leaned a little so his fingers could curl over the opposite edge and brace him.

He reigned in his focus and shoved everything aside. He tried to relax. This was going to be a similar lesson, but maybe there was a kindness to it with the salve and the towel? He willed his body from its tension, everything but his fingers over the table's edge. He wondered if he would bleed from this lesson as he had with others like it. The cane came to rest on the table and Altaïr took a deep slow breath. How was this lesson going to help him? How could doing this guide him to find inner peace? How could this possibly help him forgive himself or earn Malik's forgiveness? Altaïr hated himself. He hated that he could not seem to just say no.

He felt a hand on his back between his shoulder blades. He leaned down till his head lightly thudded on the toweled surface. _Malik..._

The Master huffed softly a moment before coming closer to Altaïr. "You will need to relax and take a leap of faith, Altaïr. Surrender yourself to me." Altaïr steadied his breathing, it was almost meditative. A year from this and he still had not forgotten. His body knew what to do even if his mind could not clearly think. That part of him shook in a corner hiding under a hooded cowl waiting to run to its secret place. The first push and breach snapped him back to the room. He gasped and bit his lower lip to keep quiet. The experience was not so painful as surprising. He did not feel himself tearing, but a smooth push and pull from behind. The Master never fully sheathed himself. Altaïr never pleased him enough for that. He tried to breath in time with the motions. He stood stock still to let this happen, squeezing his eyes shut and gripping the table more tightly.

"I will teach you how we can fly as one. Harmony within will lead to harmony without." This was followed by the removal of whatever had originally breached Altaïr and was replaced by a thicker shaft, warm and slick. "You are an extension of me, Altaïr." The Master pushed himself deeper, though as usual never completely.

Altaïr's breath caught at this and he steadied. _Why must the Master speak? Why can't he just do this and be done and leave me be?_ He wanted to fight back all of a sudden, but the position was impossible. The sensations were confusingly a mix of pleasure and horror.

"Peace within, Altaïr... Move as one with me and you will move as one with everyone."

Little by little, Altaïr slipped away from this reality, moving in time with the long slow pushes and pulls of his Master.

_He was laying on the grass near the water. Malik and he stared up at the clouds overhead. "Malik? I want to try something with you. Will you trust me?" His hands strayed over his friend's naked body. Then reached past him into the little medical bag for the healing salve. Dark charcoal and brown eyes followed his movements. "I want to know... want to know what it is like to ... to be one with you. Will you let me?" Malik had some trepidation, but the idea of crossing that boundary was exciting. They were plenty old enough, both well past fifteen, Altaïr was almost sixteen. Malik rolled onto his side and looked over his shoulder. Malik had used salve on his fingers when learning to examine Altaïr. He was impressed that Altaïr remembered and was going to make sure this did not hurt. "It might hurt a little," Altaïr warned him. "It's ok. I trust you. I want to be one with you too." The excitement and anticipation built as their blood rushed and their breath shortened._

"Good Altaïr. You are starting to learn. Mmmm... yes... move with me and you will find that moment... everything will cloud and light will burst before you." His words were in Altaïr's ear. His breath chuffing in time with his thrusts.

_The excitement and anticipation built as their blood rushed and their breath shortened. Altaïr sloppily slicked his member before pressing himself against Malik they shifted and wriggled till he pushed within that tight little ring of muscles. Malik gasped aloud. They stilled only for a moment. Altaïr used his hand to please Malik and help him relax. Soon they were moving in time with one another. The whole world rocked with them._

_The fog surrounded them, they floated on it, were cradled in it. Malik gasped and moaned as their pace quickened, thrusting into Altaïr's hand as Altaïr thrust into him. The tight friction was intense and grew only more so with the fog's presence. _

"I can feel you close, Altaïr. We are coming close to the edge. Do you see it? Can you feel it?"

It took effort to clench his teeth and not say Malik's name. Malik filled his thoughts, thrummed through the sudden intense flashes of pleasure as something pressed deep inside him. His eyes fluttered and he wanted more.

"Let us leap together, Altaïr" AL Mulaim sheathed himself to the hilt his hands gripping Altaïr's hips as he stood up to be deeper.

"Yes... yes..." The words came unbidden from Altaïr's lips. He could do nothing more than pant and gasp through the explosion of light and sensation. The fog had faded and the private room and toweled table came suddenly into focus.

AL Mualim pulled out, limp and sated. "That is bliss, Altaïr. That is union. You will always be mine... an extension of me." He used a cloth to wipe himself and pulled his pants back into place, tucking in his shirt and letting his tunic drop to cover it all. "Get cleaned up and rest, Altaïr. You have done very well. Tomorrow I will restore another rank to you and give you your next mission." The tap tap of the cane was again heard on the floor, pausing only while the Master pulled on his black robe. He left the room, closing the door behind him.

Altaïr was still panting from the shock of the orgasm and the shock of the reality with whom he had that experience. The odd merging of dreaming of that safe place with Malik and the reality of Al Mualim were too incongruous to comprehend. It was incredible. There was a sense of total union and bliss, peace and harmony and surrender. It was like being with... Altaïr did not want to admit it. He was an adamant atheist, or was he? It was like being one with god for a few seconds. But then, he wasn't. He had been with his Master in another lesson. How did this moment of total inner peace have anything to do with ... with... ANYTHING!

Altaïr started to shake uncontrollable as he laid ragdoll across the table. His fingers ached. His muscles twitched. His ass was sore and leaking his Masters seed relentlessly down his thighs. He gripped the towel as his knees buckled on him and he thumped to the floor in a heap. He half covered his privates with the soft towel. He made in incoherent sound through clenched teeth before he strangled out a whimper, "Mm... Maliik..." After a few moments of hyperventilating and fighting to bury as much of this experience as he could, he regained that numbness just like he had been taught, the kind you shifted to when you were too badly wounded to deal but still had to go on.

He staggered to the private waste room with the bathing tub and stepped into it. He sank to a sitting position in the cold water and scrubbed himself practically raw. Still shaking, he got out and dried off. He registered nothing. It was like he was a zombie on automatic. He made sure the room was spotlessly clean and all the items that were on the table had been replaced. He dressed in the new uniform and collected his armour and weapons. He didn't remember any of this. He had no idea how he woke in the middle of the night to find himself in his bed in his room in Masyaf. He was in sleeping pants with a heavy blanket. The air was cold as it always was at night, but he woke having sweat through it all.

_I have done very well. Tomorrow he will restore another rank to me and give me the next mission._

He flopped back. This was not the souk in Jerusalem. There was no comforting incense or slamming of books.

* * *

A/N #2 – no art... not sure I want to see art for this... please do not hate me... I do promise to make things better... really... kinda...


	78. Chapter 78: Malik King of Swords

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Because _***I***_ needed some lighter fluff... here is some Tibah AND some little novice boy.

* * *

Altaïr flopped back onto the bed. This was not the souk in Jerusalem. There was no comforting incense or slamming of books.

Malik slammed the notebook on the floor and threw the one he had finished reading into the wall. He hated himself for asking Altaïr to describe everything Al Mualim did to him. After about an hour of pacing and slamming things and hating Al Mualim, Malik switched from coffee to water. He paced in the souk and stared at the stars. None of that horrible two books worth of writing was contemporary, so to speak. Nothing happened in the last five years. No brutality, no sexual violations. Maybe because Altaïr had gotten too old? Maybe Altaïr was just doing exactly as he needed to? Maybe because Altaïr was always out on mission? Maybe he had grown too arrogant and could not be so controlled? He really was an arrogant ass. Nothing in the last five years. Nothing while they were solo. Nothing till the mission to Solomon's Temple.

Why had Altaïr never told him of any of this? Malik felt horrid for having been semi-sexual with Altaïr as a teen never knowing what he had been through. _Did I worsen the situation?_ No, he had been a stabilizing help. It explained so much of Altaïr's younger reactions at night. Quiet, brooding, clingy, insecure, and willing to obey and be sexual. Altaïr was so not the person he thought he was. How much of that arrogance was cover for what happened to him? The secret sides of Altaïr that he did know he saw so rarely. They were gentle, curious, mischievous, but also serious and driven. As cocky as Altaïr had been, he was usually shy and watchful. He was never really a dominant boy or even man. But how much of that was truly Altaïr and how much of it was what happened to him?

Malik slept so poorly. He wanted to hug something or more someone. He wanted to hug his brothers and Altaïr. None of them were there though. He wondered how many went through what Altaïr did. He was so glad he hadn't and more glad that his little brother never did. His older brother, Faruq, seemed to know too much by the way he looked at Altaïr. Maybe he knew, maybe he experienced it. That was impossible. Faruq had been not that much younger than Al Mualim. They were all gone now.

He had no idea when or if he would see Altaïr again. He couldn't send word either.

Malik needed a serious change of environment. He had spent almost two solid days glued to these notebooks. Outside. Yes, he needed to be outside. He rolled up some maps and scrolls. He picked up a basket and a list of things he needed to get in the market square.

As he approached the market square, he saw the apothecary stand with Tibah serving clients. She waved at him. He nodded to her, unable to wave with his arm full. He took a couple steps back and blended into the crowd. He had NO IDEA how he was going to deal with her. His cheeks were still burning long after he vacated the market. He wove through the rich district past several merchant estates to sector with smaller housing. Each had a little garden with benches. He came to the door he sought and stood there for several moments feeling like an idiot unable to knock.

The door opened and a small boy of ten squeaked in surprise, "Rafiq! - Safety and Peace!"

"And to you. Novice, you timing is again commendable." Malik offered a polite smile and was truly grateful to be saved from feeling stupid. "I thought I might speak with your mentor."

The novice suddenly hugged Malik and dragged him inside, taking the basket and scrolls and setting them on the nearest table. "GRANDFADDER! The rafiq is here to see you!" Malik winced at the yelling. "I am supposed to call him grandfadder. It is part of our cover," he whispered loudly.

"Safety and Peace Malik. Junayd, lead the rafiq into the closed garden. I will bring us some breakfast there." The old retired Dai patted the boy on the head.

Junayd smiled and nodded, with two front teeth missing, which explained the mispronunciations. He took Malik's hand and led him through the house to the back door and into a garden. That resembled the souk of the Bureau in that is was entirely walled with a lattice roof. It was a garden though with many more plants that Malik's souk. There were carpets and cushions and a low table to you could play games upon or eat at. Two fountains bubbled happily. Malik was immediately glad for his decision to leave the Bureau today.

Junayd, the little novice, flitted back and forth helping the old Dai bring out breakfast. "How is Altaïr?" he asked curiously. "Did he heal alright?"

"I suppose," lied Malik. It wasn't really a lie. Altaïr did heal from the wound the boy had helped with. But Malik would not consider Altaïr a healed man, not my the longest flight of an arrow.

"Junayd, don't be late now," chided the old Dai. Junayd dashed back into the house for a Bible and a notebook and a little pouch of various items. "Don't forget breakfast,"called the old Dai, Junayd dashed back into the garden and snagged a bun and shoving it entirely into his mouth. He skipped a couple steps away then back again to snag a couple more and stuff them into his pockets while he chewed with stuffed cheeks. Then he ran off.

"I see your curious look, Malik. It is Sunday. He is off to church. He will learn mass and stay for Sunday school and learn what the Christian children learn, then he stays with the priests to learn Greek and Latin. Fridays he does the same in the Mosque and Saturdays at the Synagogue. It is easier to let other's teach him languages. They have more energy for him than I." He poured come cold sun steeped tea from a jug into glasses for them both. "Junayd is a good boy. But he will make a far better assassin than informant. He ought to go back to Masyaf."

"No," Malik protested. "Not till we figure out who the traitor is. It already cost the boy his mentor and nearly his life."

"Is the boy then why you are here? Or is the pleasure of this visit about our crossed encounter the other day? Hm... more like something is deeply troubling you." Trust the old Dai to get to the heart of the matter.

"All three and more, I think." Malik felt lonely and just needed company. He couldn't engage in this kind of company often. There were risks. But the risk was too deeply needed today for his own sanity. "I wanted to see the boy and how he was. He seems well." The hug did Malik a world of good, but he did not want to admit that to the Dai. "Maybe once this traitor is dealt with a new mentor could be found for him."

"You would make a very good mentor, Malik. You were an assassin, a very good one. You could teach him. I have always been an informant."

Malik had not known that. He thought all Dai were first assassins. "Uh... no. My hands are too full right now with other things to take on a young novice. I am sorry I shunted him over to you, but ... you were the only one I thought I could trust with this."

"I see. Then there is more going on than I thought." The old Dai nibbled some fruit waiting for Malik to open up. Something drove Malik here, something big.

"I understand that training is sometimes very hard on some to specialize them. But has training in the past, before Al Mualim ever involved breaking someone? Like torture or rape?"

The old Dai's eyes widened in surprise. "That sort of training has not been done since maybe Hassan's time. And Al Mualim's training methods have been excellent for the growth and survivability of the member of our Order. Has... something happened? Does this have something to do with the traitor? Do you have a suspect? I don't think Junayd has ever experienced that sort of trauma training."

"I have learned some very disturbing things that raise many questions. But maybe the results justify the means? I just don't think assassins need be made that way. It might just be a difference in philosophy. I am not sure yet. I only just recently learned of it in confidence. Trust has been a hard issue with this member of our Order and I do not want to break that trust without very good reason." Malik wore his usual pensive look that often make him appear dangerous and bitter.

This old Dai knew Malik well enough to know otherwise. He reached across the table and patted Malik's hand. "You are a good and trustworthy man. You have Faruq's patience and your father's intense intellect. I am sure you will figure this out. This member of our Order is lucky to have you as a friend."

Malik wasn't sure yet if he would call himself and Altaïr friends. He nodded still sorting the puzzle pieces in his head. After some breakfast he finally asked, "So, why were you with the Gnostics?"

The old Dai chuckled. "Seeking information of course!"

"But you are retired."

The old Dai chuckled again. "Yes, I am, but I am also very much more bored than when I was the Dai."

Malik smiled. One could never truly just retire in this Order. It was in the blood. "What did you mean when you said I was not ready?"

"You are still not ready, Malik. You have many things on your plate that you must attend to and mysteries aplenty of your own to solve. Once those are resolved, then seek out the Gnostics."

It seemed cryptic and Malik wanted to scream. Is this what Altaïr had to put up with old Al Mualim? Does everyone get cryptic in their old age? Malik hoped he never ended up like THAT! Wise was one thing, confusing was something else. It crept too close to being senile. They talked about other things, including the lives of the other informants in their command.

Junayd returned for lunch before he had to run to his other lessons at the Church. He was whacking things about with a stick babbling how some of the kids are sons of city guards or even Templars. "They know how to use a sword. I got walloped good. Can I learn to use a sword? When do I get that in my training?"

The old Dai and Malik exchanged looks. Before Malik could protest, the Old Dai announced, "We were just discussing training. Did you know Malik is one of the very best swordsmen of our Order? He bears his name well. Malik A-sayf, King of Swords. And so, my young grandson, Novice Junayd, you will start lessons in blade handling with him twice a week very early in the mornings. I'll kick you out at dawn, because that is when Malik is up. You start tomorrow."

Junayd jumped and yelled joyously. He hugged Malik and the old Dai. He ran out with his pretend sword to his next lessons still whooping and cheering.

"There, Malik. Problem solved! He gets some assassin training and you get some company." The old Dai leaned back against the cushions very pleased with himself.

* * *

A/N #2 – no art...


	79. Chapter 79: Altair New Mission

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Thank you everyone for enduring that ROUGH set of chapters! Altaïr now walks a fine line between together and deadly... and totally losing it and deadly.

* * *

"There, Malik. Problem solved! He gets some assassin training and you get some company." The old Dai leaned back against the cushions very pleased with himself.

Altaïr woke still feeling like everything was surreal. Did yesterday really happen? There was a moment he fought curling into a tight ball and screaming for no reason. Or maybe it was for every reason. He listened to the quiet in the room without opening his eyes. The sun blanketed his feet that stuck out from his covers. He didn't remember undressing to sleep. He pulled the blanket over his head and remained still as the sun slowly heated his back. It was soothing and reminded him of the souk in Jerusalem. He wondered if his next mission was there.

Some novice knocked on the door and asked for entry. He muttered out permission but did not move. The novice set down breakfast and then prepared a basin of water and towels for washing. "Master Al Mualim is waiting for you." When Altaïr said nothing the novice whispered, "Sorry," and slipped out as quickly as he could to not disturb the sleeping assassin. He could just barely hear the young novice telling another who he just brought stuff to. The rest of the conversation was lost and Altaïr snarled as he filled in the missing conversation with the hate and spite most everyone gave him.

He stayed in the bed for another hour trying to think of nothing. As the aching started from not moving, he gave in to the need to move. Sitting felt uncomfortable. He washed slowly. He ate slowly. Now and then his hands would shake and he would glare at them willing them into obedience. He had to report his mission of the regent still. He took his time to go over the details in his head, sorting what to say and what Malik likely already said in notes.

Several thoughts clamoured for his attention. The thoughts that had risen from the fog conversations with his dying targets. He did not want to expose what he worried was his own insanity. Treachery and betrayal echoed in his heart. He fumbled his cup of water and cursed aloud. It took a few minutes to reign in the sudden rage. It took several more to shove aside everything he tho9ught and felt about anything but the things he was going to address in this meeting. _Eagles can do this... so can I. I am the Eagle of Masyaf._

The Master turned from the great window behind his desk as Altaïr approached. "Come, Altaïr. I trust you're rested; ready for your remaining trials?" It was a reminder to Altaïr that he was still a novice, still a traitor striving for redemption.

Altaïr weighed his thoughts. "I am. But... I would speak to you first. I ... have questions."

"Ask them, I will do my best to answer." Master AL Mualim was in a very good mood and his tones were inviting like the mentor Altaïr had always wanted to speak with as a child, the one he tried to please for moments like this when he could ask anything.

Altaïr supposed he had somehow pleased his Master last night. "The Merchant King of Damascus murdered the nobles who ruled his city. Majd Addin in Jerusalem used fear to force his people into submission. I suspect William meant to murder Richard, and hold Acre with his troops. These men were meant to aid their leaders; instead they choose to betray them. What I do not understand is why?"

"Is the answer not obvious?" Altaïr hated this phrase. It meant he was stupid and missed something he ought to know. The Master started to explain as though to a child, "The Templars desire control. Each man, as you noted, wanted to claim their cities in the Templar name; and the templars themselves might rule the Holy Land, and eventually beyond. But they cannot succeed their mission."

Puzzled, Altaïr blurted out his next question, "Why is that?"

"Their plans depend upon the Templar treasure, the Piece of Eden." Al Mualim smiled both bemused and pleased. "But we hold it now. They cannot hope to achieve their goals without it." The older man stroked his beard then picked up the silver and gold ball to admire it.

"What is this treasure?" Altaïr wanted to know why it was so important to risk so many lives, including Malik's and Kadar's.

Al Mualim approached Altaïr and held the ball up to eye level. "It is temptation," he said seriously.

Altaïr shrugged unimpressed, "It's just a piece of silver."

That response didn't seem to please the Master. "Look at it!" he commanded as Altaïr took a wary step back.

Still not really seeing the point of this, Altaïr looked anyways, "What am I supposed to see?" _Is it a diviners ball like the Romanians and their crystal orbs and cards?_

For a moment Al Mualmin seemed confused. Altaïr thought maybe something special was supposed to happen and didn't. The old Master frowned as he paused. "This," he started to explain, "piece of silver cast out Adam and Eve. It turned staves into snakes. Parted and closed the Red Sea. Eris used it to start the Trojan War. And with it, a poor carpenter turned water into wine."

This was too fantastical for Altaïr to believe, being the atheist that he was. "It seems rather... plain for all the power you claim it has. How does it work?" He wondered briefly who was the insane one now.

Al Mualim set the ball into a box on his desk. "he who holds it commands the hearts and minds of whoever looks upon it. Whoever _tastes_ of it as they say."

That didn't make sense. The Hospitalier was doing so without the ball, but holed to have it to make his task easier. So Altaïr asked, "And Garnier's men?"

"An experiment." The master spoke with disdain. "Herbs used to simulate the effects so they might be ready for when they finally held it."

As ever, the Master made sense. Altaïr tried to sort the pieces of this puzzle. "Talal supplied Garnier with slaves. Tamir equipped them with weapons and armour. They were preparing something. But... what?"

"War." It was a plain and simple statement.

"And the others... the other men who ruled the cities, they meant to gather up the people; make them like Garnier's men." Altaïr could see it now, yes, the Master made perfect sense. It was a terrifying sense.

Al Mualim nodded to Altaïr conclusions. "The perfect citizens. The perfect soldiers. A perfect world." It didn't sound so awful, yet it was a place of total slavery, no free will.

It made Altaïr shudder. "Robert de Sable must never have this back!" The very idea of the world as perfect according to that man was sickening.

They discussed the plan to destroy the Templars with these key members that have been already dealt with. There were nine in total. The next two targets were Sibrand in Acre and Jubair in Damascus. "They know you come, the Man in the White Hood. They'll be looking for you Altaïr."

That only made this a more interesting challenge with more noble stakes. "They won't find me. I am but a blade in the crowd."

The Master uncovered something from the desk's surface. It was Altaïr's Eagle Sword. It had been a gift to him from Malik long ago. A small secret between them. They each had one. Faruq had a friend who forged blades and was having one made for Kadar too when he would be old enough. Altaïr wanted to leap forward and snatch what had been lost to him back, but he held his ground with a neutral expression.

"Here," The Master offered, "My gift to you, in gratitude for the good work you have done." He then left for his private study with the Piece of Eden.

Altaïr lifted the sword almost lovingly from the desk. It had been a year since he last saw it. He thought it lost forever with his disgrace. He set it down again as his hands shook and emotions clawed their way forward only to be roughly rammed back into the bottle within him. Neutral again, he examined the blade to be sure it was in fine condition before sheathing it where his old sword was. It had more weight at his hip. It felt more solid and grounding. It felt right.

He didn't want to waste time thinking about anything but his duties. He had two lives to take. Best be swift, numb, and invisible. He strode from the library with a dangerous glower. Some hurried from his path. Others stood stoic, perfectly guarding, and never even seemed to register his passing. He paid them no mind. They hated him anyways. No mind. That was an Eastern philosophy that the Chinese Buddhists preached. He could be no mind. No mind had its own peace. Peace within leads to peace without. _If I feel nothing and think nothing, then there will be peace in me, quiet, and I will find peace outside me._

The horse outside Masyaf knew better and shied from him. He had to coax it with fruit before he mounted and rode off through the Kingdom.

* * *

A/N #2 – no art...

A/N #3 – comments to those not with accounts:

**Freya****: **

I wish I had tips for you on writing longer stuff. I have a hell of a time writing one-shot and can't manage to do those pretty little drabbles I love to read. Think big... think deep... every character... and I mean EVERY character should have history and the story should have a goal that you have the characters striving to reach. In fanfics like mine, I am writing a story where everyone already knows the end. We all know Al Mualim is the traitor and needs to die. We all know Altaïr has to struggle with understanding the Piece of Eden with Malik. And we all know the Assassin development as an order against the Templars. The games have already written it. I am creating the filler and telling the story the game leaves out.

I know about the spelling annoyances. I blame dyslexia. The "wander tense" as the problem is officially called is also related to my dyslexia. I just got a beta reader who is starting to go through my earlier chapters and I suppose she will catch up fast. So soon, I will have things edited BEFORE they go up... once she catches up to me.

I have no mary sues. *shocked* I actually have not written myself into this story in any way... unless you slit me in two and call me Malik and Altaïr. I apologize for any historical stretching in Altaïr's past. I have not played Chronicles and only have a few internet references as a guide to what Adha is all about. Otherwise, I try to keep the characters IC (in character).

**Bella V:**

I have put lots of research into the psychology of Altaïr's situation. I wanted to find a way to explain what I saw in the game. Altaïr was introverted, wary, mistrusting, submissive when he ought to be very much not, especially since he was supposed to be arrogant and "the best" so what kinds of things would have happened in 1192 in training to make him like that? Also, I had some very reliable people share some deeply personal experiences to help me make this realistic.

I hate... HATE... smut. I think one can still get the point well across without being crass in the sexual descriptions.

As for Malik... I blame artists on Deviant Art for inspiring his history for me to write about.


	80. Chapter 80: Malik and the Dawn Novice

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – More little novice... it fills Malik's heart with joy... and mine too.

* * *

The horse outside Masyaf knew better and shied from Altaïr. He had to coax it with fruit before he mounted and rode off through the Kingdom.

Malik was barely awake when he heard the clumsy collision of child and souk pillows. He rubbed his eyes and combed his fingers through his still damp hair from the wash he was having. The hot morning soak had pulled him back into sleep and his fingers were all wrinkly. He figured the noise was Junayd tumbling off the wall in likely a horrible tangle of arms and legs and pillows. He smirked and dried off. Not hearing the boy call for him had him worrying that maybe the boy knocked his head and was hurt. Malik tugged on his pants and tied them as he walked out into the main Bureau.

There sat the boy on his knees, looking serene just before he bowed his head down in traditional dawn prayers. Malik smiled and joined the youth on the carpets. He quietly translated as they prayed.

_Allaahu Akbar_

"Allah is great"

_Ashhadu Allah ilaaha illa-Lah_

"I bear witness of none more worthy of worship but Allah"

_Ash Hadu anna Muhamadar rasuulullah_

"And that Muhammed is His messenger"

_Hayya' alas Salaah_

"Come to prayer"

_Hayya' ala Falaah_

"Come to peace"

_A-Salaatu Khayrun Mina-Naum_

"Prayer is better than sleep"

_Allaahu Akbar_

"Allah is great"

_Laa ilaaha illa-Lah_

"None are worthier of His worship"

The boy then sat back up and rubbed his hand over his freshly shaven head unhappily. "Is the prayer true?"

Malik wanted to ask about the baldness, but the question seemed more important. He found himself quoting something he never thought he would, "Nothing is True and everything is permitted."

"So... it is true only if we believe it to be."

Malik thought the boy's interpretation was likely the best he had heard and committed it to memory to tell Altaïr. The statement was a fact... but a very mutable one. "Now Novice, what has happened to your hair?"

Junayd hung his head and muttered with embarrassment. "Granfadder found me with lice last night. So he shaved it all off and scrubbed me with a brush."

Malik thought it completely endearing to have this fake cover story of the boy being the Old Dai's grandson. It made for a good explanation should anyone ask. Sent from Acre like so many to family in safer places. "Well, we can't have lice about. Come, novice. I will treat this and you can assure your... grandfather, that there will be no more lice." Malik lead the boy into the back room and prepared a cream that he rubbed into the boy's head.

Junayd made faces and complained how it burned a bit. Then blushed as he stood stark naked in the emptied tub while Malik dusted him down with some powder. He sat in the dusty tub as instructed.

"We will begin our lesson with theory. Have you learned how to care for a blade, clean it and repair the leathering on it and its sheath?" Malik was pleased as the boy explained the steps he learned from his previous mentor. They moved to discussing the Creed and how the blade was related as a tool. "Stay your blade from the blood of an innocent. This includes that you are responsible for protecting them if you can. Hide in plain sight. They will help hide you in exchange for your discretion and protections. Never compromise the Brotherhood. Do not expose yourself or draw undue attention. Drawing a blade in a crowd of innocents will certainly do that."

The boy snickered. "Only a really stupid novice would do that!" Malik had to snicker too then all he could think of was Altaïr. "Can I wash this powder off? And get dressed?"

"Hmmm... no."

Junayd gave his best pleading eyes. The answer remained no. "How am I going to learn anything about sword fighting like this?"

"By first learning to listen," instructed Malik. "The assassin is a master of the art of listening before he is a master of the art of using." Malik wandered off and returned with several items, laying them out on the floor. He pointed to one after the other naming the types of throwing knives, the daggers and short knives, the swords and even a wrist blade. The last had been his own that he could no longer use on the now missing last arm. He made the boy recite the Creed and the meanings they just discussed and then recite the names of each blade several times. Then he taught him the names of the blades in other languages.

By the end of the early part of the morning, Junayd was allowed to towel off, but not wash. He was dressed and given paper where he learned to write the blade names in all the languages he had just learned, until he had them committed to memory. Malik started work on a new map of Jerusalem while the boy sat in the middle of the floor doing the work assigned to him. Only after Junayd could recite them by heart, did he earn breakfast.

Malik sent him home after that with the instruction to be here in three days. "Safety and Peace, rafiq." Malik called the greeting back to the boy as he watched the boy climb and scramble and struggle up the fountain. He had grown an inch in the last month, so this was an easier climb than it was the last time he made it. Malik felt thrilled to have had the company, to be... teaching someone. He almost wished he had chosen to apprentice the youth himself now. But how could he. Someone might see the boy and then Malik's lie to Master Al Mualim would be known. He reminded himself that Al Mualim, for all his faults, knew best what to do with the assassins. And with this war, this crusade, Malik was sure no one else could be dealing with it any better.

* * *

A/N #2 – The Muslim dawn Prayer is called the Fajr. That was the best I could work out. If I have it wrong, I hope someone can correct me.


	81. Chapter 81: Altair Lone Horseman

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Sorry about how short this one is...

* * *

Malik reminded himself that Al Mualim, for all his faults, knew best what to do with the assassins. And with this war, this crusade, Malik was sure no one else could be dealing with it any better.

Altaïr rode hard. His mind kept wandering into insane thoughts and he never saw when the sword arced and took down his horse. He hit the ground in a terrible sprawl, barely remembering to roll to save from breaking bones. He dodged the tumble of the heavy horse. His vision shifted to see the flashed of red movements around him. He was surrounded. He had ridden into a small marching battalion of crusaders.

His mind blanked and he was in motion. A flurry of steel talons and white fluttering robes. Now and then his vision shifted to spot the shining red aggressive targets. Soon there were no red aggressors. Two cowering neutral white figures pleaded mercy in English. The strange vision is soon flooded by real colors. Eleven men lay dead by a variety of truly brutal means, tangled broken bones and ravaging gashes. One of the two cowering men drops and vomits.

Altaïr staggers away from them not even knowing what had happened, but knowing it was his doing. This was not assassination. This was hardly even qualified as self-defence. This was Altaïr... the killer. Except... he didn't take these two now innocent shining white lives that cowered before him. He didn't recall encountering these soldiers on the road at all. But clearly... he had encountered them. Their blood was on his blades and speckled his white robes. _What makes me different from the men I am killing?_

Feeling a rise in panic he turned and ran. He ran full tilt till he was stumbling and the sun was setting. The terrain was different, rockier. A large village rested ahead. He snuck through between buildings trying to get his bearings. He found another horse he coaxed from a pen and walked it down a random road. He was asleep in the saddle when the night terrors plagued him. He was woken by his horse charging in fright. He reigned it in, unsure what spooked it. Finding a stray dilapidated hut with a stale bale of hay, Altaïr let the horse rest and graze while he tried to sleep.

He woke in a sweat damp with chilly dew. His chest heaved as he frantically fought his memories back into the hidden corner of his mind, hammering them down till he felt numb again. It was easier to feel nothing, to be a stone. _Cleave a piece of wood and I am there. Lift up the stone and you will find me. As above, so below. As within, so without._

Altaïr's hands clawed into his hair and he fought the yell that ripped in his throat. After many minutes of hard panting and a curious horse wandering over to nuzzle him, Altaïr felt as normal as he could pretend to be. He pulled himself into the saddle. He traveled like this with similar episodes all the way to a city wall. He barely registered even which city. He just let tired feet and a tired mind act on their own till he dropped through the lattice of the Bureau's souk. He didn't even bother to remove armour, weapons or boots as usual. The moonlight lit the way to the carpets and soft pillows where he curled up with familiar smells.

* * *

A/N #2 – Some people have reviewed that they have art ideas... WEEEEEE! I can hardly wait to see what artists come up with!

A/N #3 – now for some comments on reviews:

**Eliina**

I am so glad my dyslexia is not showing SO horribly as to take away from my story. As to advice... I am not sure what to say. I think in epics. *shrugs*

**Freya**

I didn't misunderstand you. It was fine. I was just pleased my secondary characters are great secondary characters (Junayd the little novice and Tibah). Also hope my tertiary characters are good too (Tibah's brother, the Old Dai, and the Informant and his family). I will be bringing in another secondary character soonish.

**DreamerAngel17**

You are so right! Altaïr is away from AL Mualim physically, but not mentally. It will catch up to him. He is dancing this edge of shocky state vs total breakdown. Somewhere... at some time... he will snap and lose it somehow.

**J**

*EW!*

There will likely be no more Al Mualim x Altaïr moments. I hated writing them and do not care to write another. It is not a pairing I favour in any way and am totally squicked out by people who do favour it.


	82. Chapter 82: Malik Discovers Shock

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Moving along... Some days... we all hate the world.

* * *

Altaïr didn't even bother to remove armour, weapons or boots as usual. The moonlight lit the way to the carpets and soft pillows where he curled up with familiar smells.

Malik had about four days of getting back into his usual routine of scribing, logging informant information, creating maps, and dealing with people in the Bureau as public clients that he generally detested and had to be polite to anyways. The breaks in his routine included Junayd in the morning of the third day, the nightly reading of Altaïr trance notes, and his inner debate on how to handle Tibah. He saw no more assassins or even novices coming through the bureau. That was less and less frequent the past few months. He didn't see Altaïr either, though found himself hoping and sometimes checking the souk for a sleeping form in white robes.

The second lesson with Junayd was more of a test. Could the youth actually clean all the blades and sharpen them properly. Could he clean and repair all the leathering on the blades and the sheaths? Could he name them all by heart and write those names in several languages? The intermixed joy came with the curious religious and philosophical questions the boy felt he could ask Malik. They debated the nuances of the Creed and the structure of the Order. It got Malik thinking how and why people were chosen for what tasks and reminded him of his ideas of new training techniques that he wanted to try, but really needed an experienced assassin to test them out with.

He earned the usual few bruises pretending to be a helpless crippled scribe when he went out on errands. Those moments soured his mood and always ended in things being thrown or broken in his back room. It reinforced his sense of helplessness and challenged him to want to fight back like an assassin. But he couldn't fight back. It would blow his cover and that would break the third tenet of the Creed.

Altaïr's journal did not help his mood and often raised more questions than answers. He read how Al Mualim had taken Altaïr from the docks of Acre, saving him from thugs who were killing his parents. It was one incident of several that explained Altaïr's fear of water. The question was, in light of what Malik now knew of Faruq's death, was who killed Altaïr's parents? He read about Altaïr's two failings and the treasures. There were consequences to failing. But why punish Altaïr when the failings were out of his control? Altaïr was not a god, you could not expect miracles from him. Why punish him for things that were not his fault at all? Malik knew that it was his blood trail that lead Robert de Sable to Masyaf, not Altaïr. But maybe he had not made that clear in his pain and the loss of Kadar and his arm.

It tore his heart apart to read how Altaïr had tried so hard to keep Malik and Kadar safe from the dangers of the treasure hunts and the dangers of training directly under AL Mualim. It tore him apart too to read how Altaïr viewed himself as not human, and nothing more than a prize beast to be used. Pleasing like a lap dop and obeying commands without question. Except now, now that Altaïr was forced to relearn the meaning of being an assassin, he has started to question. Maybe only privately in his head and too embarrassed to discuss it, but still, he was questioning.

Malik came to understand that the treasures were meant to help bring peace. There have been references of them in various religious texts. But in corrupt hands, maybe they could be used to control others, abused for the selfish reasons of a few and not the benefit of all. He was glad then that the treasure found in Solomon's Temple was in the hands of the assassins. _We would never use it to control others. He seek freedom and peace for all._ He had to trust that although AL Mualim did unforgivable things to Altaïr, they did make him into perhaps the only man who could fight this battle and retrieve these treasures, to take out of people who threaten all the people in the Kingdom.

Malik was just about to read more this night. He had just scribbled in his questions. Did Al Mualim kill Altaïr and bring him back to life? By what sorcery? The treasure? Can it do that? Who were Altaïr's targets? Malik thought that maybe he could help Altaïr figure out the links between these people. He lifted his head sure he had heard something in the night, something landing in the souk. All was quiet. It must have been just a bird. Again there was a sound, or a movement out the corner of his eye. A flutter of black and white feathers. He looked over and saw his curtain rippling. There must have been a breeze. Malik set down the notebook and corked the ink. It was time to stretch anyways. He would go to the souk for water and take a moment to gaze at the stars.

He jolted to a stop at the entrance to the souk. There on the carpets and pillows was a white robed figure, hooded and huddled and shivering in the chill night air. It was no other than Altaïr. He rubbed his eyes to be sure. It was definitely Altaïr by the armour and robe markings. The assassin was curled in a tight ball murmuring in a night terror. Malik jumped at the sound of the wrist blade impaling a pillow as reflex to the dream. He resisted the urge to rush over hold Altaïr. Startling the armed sleeping assassin would only end badly for them both. Malik looked over at the pigeons to see if maybe he missed word from Al Mualim of a new mission here for Altaïr, but there was none. Then why was he here? That could be answered later.

Malik removed his black robe and called Altaïr's name a few times to rouse him a little before approaching, then draped it over Altaïr. The assassin looked like an exhausted wreck. The dry blood spots told of battles on the way here, but there didn't seem to be and cuts or punctures in the fabric. Altaïr sat up though was completely unfocused, still half asleep. Malik helped remove blades, harnesses, belts, armour and boots. Altaïr rolled back down into the pillows. He pulled his hood far down to cover his head and face and curled his around the end of the black sleeve of Malik's draped robe, pulling it to him and burying his face in it.

Malik frowned deeply as he stood to get another blanket for Altaïr. He had seen Altaïr like this before. That numb blankness of expression, yet the fetal tense ball of a sleeping position. It was never anything he could do anything about but blanket him. Getting close only worsened it. He wondered what Altaïr did to end up like this. When he returned, Altaïr was shaking. This looked more like a state of shock. Malik abandoned the potential dangers and searched Altaïr's body for wounded, loosening his clothes as he did.

He checked Altaïr's temperature with the back of his hand, cold and clammy. Altaïr's pulse was fast and weak. There were no wounds, but this was definitely the beginnings of shock just the same. Altaïr breathed rapidly and shallowly and his lips were starting to take on a pale color. Malik struggled to get a pile of pillows under Altaïr's feet and bundle him with the blankets. Altaïr kept trying to curl back up into a fetal position, so Malik laid down beside him and held him anyways, partially to help keep him in the proper position to get blood flowing back to normal and partially to offer what comfort he could.

It was a long night of repeatedly checking Altaïr's state before Altaïr was actually in a normal sleep. Malik was almost ready to follow suit. Altaïr rolled over and curled up again, but this time facing Malik, burying his hooded face into Malik's chest. Malik wondered over and over what horror befell Altaïr and knew somehow that he would never find out.

* * *

A/N #2 – Did research on shock symptoms and their treatment for this.


	83. Chapter 83: Altair: Comfort of Jerusalem

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Sometimes the lie is necessary... even for a little while... in order to cling to the fraying fabric of sanity.

* * *

Altaïr rolled over and curled up again, but this time facing Malik, burying his hooded face into Malik's chest. Malik wondered over and over what horror befell Altaïr and knew somehow that he would never find out.

Altaïr tangled his fingers into the soft fabric of the blanket and robes. He inhaled the familiar scent of parchment, ink and Malik's own unique muskiness. He let out a strangled whimper that almost sounded like Malik's name. One and a half arms held him tight. Panic rose in him and he almost shoved the figure off, but as he cracked his eyes open, his vision was blurred by the bright blue light of a trusted being. He almost smothered himself in that being. He tenses as fingers worked their way into the forbidden territory under his hood and into his hair. Little by little he started to relax again. He turned his head enough so he could breathe fresh air and drifted to exhausted sleep.

The sun started to bake his bare feet and he mumbled complaitively. He didn't want to move though. "Safety and peace, Altaïr" The voice seemed distantly family in the soft tired whisper. His hood was pushed of and he squeezed his eyes shut as panic again rose. "Shhhh... easy..." Malik's hand turned Altaïr's face into him as it rested over Altaïr's head in place of the hood. Altaïr drifted again off to sleep, more deeply.

Malik had very slowly and carefully extricated himself to check Altaïr's pulse and temperature. Annoyed mumbled and the random shove told him clearly that Altaïr would be fine.

Golden eyes blinked blearily open. At first all Altaïr saw was the swath of bright blue light shimmering before him. The gold of the sunlight permeated that and forced him to blink several times. The souk came into view along with the familiar figure of a concerned Malik frowning down at him. It made no sense. He was supposed to be in Damascus. Why was Malik in Damascus? Altaïr shut his eyes tightly trying to piece together the events that lead him here and trying to firmly identify where here was. The souk. The Bureau. The orris and sandalwood incense smoke drifting on the air. The sound on only one fountain, the other two souks had two fountains. Jerusalem. Two horses. He had to ride two horses to get here.

He sat up suddenly with a gasp, "Blood!" Malik's hand gripped his shoulder to steady him.

"Yes Altaïr, you are covered in blood. Feel up to undressing and cleaning up? I'll get you fresh robes." Malik backed away before the panic that rose could crest and cause Altaïr to bolt.

An uncertain nod is what Altaïr gave to Malik. He slowly tugged off each piece of clothing. He discarded them away from him along with the memories they revealed in the dried brown blood splatters upon them. A metal wash basin and cloth seemed to materialize. He looked up to Malik's retreating back. Altaïr filled the basin with water from the fountain and washed himself, choking back a sob as he washed more intimate parts and again when he washed his face. Malik set the robes down and retreated again, giving Altaïr space to sort his emotions.

Once dressed, Malik sat on a pillow near Altaïr. "I have not had word of your arrival. Why are you here, Altaïr?"

"I'm... supposed to be in Damascus." Altaïr welcomed the sliced fruit and cup of water for a sparse breakfast.

Malik frowned puzzled. "This is not Damascus, Altaïr. Why are you here?" He was digging for information, digging for the truth.

Altaïr was not going to give him that truth. He stared as his still stitched hands and found his answer for Malik. "Take out the stitches." It almost sounded like a question. He hoped it didn't. He heard the sigh of Malik frustrated with another excuse and knew Malik knew his lie to be that, a lie. But he refused to say more. He simply held still for Malik to remove the stitches.

The closeness was confusing. He wanted Malik closer. Not just closer but deeply intimately closer. He wanted that inner peace, that moment of bliss. At the same time, just being touched made his heart race with the need to run away. However, he promised Faruq he would not run from Malik. He needed a reason to get away, before his said or did something and unravelled to end up like those wandering crazy people.

Malik ran his thumb across Altaïr's second palm once the stitches were out. Altaïr snatched his hand away. "Altaïr, I hate when you lie to me." Malik's reproachful scowl twisted in Altaïr's gut. "I wish you'd talk to me."

"I can't, Malik. I have a mission to do." He stood with all intentions of fleeing. Malik daringly grabbed Altaïr's arm. "No Malik! I... can't. I have to do my missions." He pulled free and pulled on his weapons and armour and fast as he could.

Malik pursed his lips and scowled back at the rebuke. "Who is your target?"

"Jubair of Damascus... and Sibrand of Acre. Safety and peace, Malik." Altaïr dexterously leapt out through the souk's lattice roof.

"Tell me about them! Come back between them! Altaïr! Did you hear me? Come back between them!"

Altaïr stopped at the edge of the roof, hearing Malik's call. He turned and took a couple steps back till he was in view of Malik. They gazed at each other for a long minute. "I will Malik." Then he turned and flew from the roof.

* * *

A/N #2 – Mmmmm... buried in musky Malik-ness.


	84. Chapter 84: Malik's Puzzle Pieces

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – You may notice some changes in this chapter from other chapters as I make corrections. I am very grateful for **NES** who was able to correct me in several things Middle Eastern. This is why I love reviews! In case you don't read the reviews, I have posted **NES**'s review at the end of the chapter with my notations.

* * *

Altaïr stopped at the edge of the roof, hearing Malik's call. He turned and took a couple steps back till he was in view of Malik. They gazed at each other for a long minute. "I will Malik." Then he turned and flew from the roof.

Malik stood under the lattice staring up into the sky sorting his own feelings. There was the deep worry of what had happened to Altaïr. He had arrived in a state of shock and even woke in disorientation. Yet he was off again. Malik felt a little used and abused. Altaïr comes in states of need and comfort, never explains why and is gone again to abandon Malik. _He always leaves me behind!_ And then there was this... the flip and skip his heart did when Altaïr actually turned back to confirm that he would return.

Malik felt like a woman.

He kicked cushions in frustration. He wasn't even sure why he was frustrated. He knew Altaïr needed him. He knew Altaïr needed serious help. But how could he possibly do anything stuck here? He kicked a few more cushions.

"Stupid NOVICE! He didn't even fill his water bottles or take food for the road! It is at least four more days to Damascus." Malik wondered how in Allah's name Altaïr did not starve to death, dehydrate in the desert, _or simply... simply... fall prey to ... to... MICE!_ "He can barely take care of himself!"

Malik paced out his frustration till he remembered that he had asked Altaïr about his next targets. It was generally forbidden to ask about targets that were not your own. It was none of his business. And yet, Malik felt it was entirely his business. Kadar died over that treasure. Faruq might have died for getting too involved. This was totally his business. He pulled out Altaïr's trance notes, hunted the section on targets and scribbled in the two new names. Then he opened out maps and was about to get involved in trying to solve this new puzzle, this new yet old mystery, when he remembered he was supposed to be open today for scribe business. He cursed in Arabic.

Having to wait till evening was going to kill him! Or, he might kill the first client that pissed him off.

Thankfully, no one died by evening.

Malik concluded that if he could not be at Altaïr's side to be of any help, then he could help him by unraveling, hopefully, the mystery of the nine lives for Altaïr's. He put bottles of salve and ink on the pages of the notebook to hold it open. He used a variety of other heavy items to hold maps of Acre, Jerusalem, and Damascus spread out on the floor. He made sure there was space for him to pace around everything as he preferred to be in motion as he thought.

In one of the unused notebooks, he started to put the puzzle pieced together. He gave each important name a page with a few pages between each to leave room for many noted. He included King Richard, Saladin, Al Mualim and Altaïr. He added Robert de Sable. Then he added himself, Kadar and Faruq. He then dug out an old map of Masyaf to add to the spread out maps. If he was including assassins, then he had to include their city as well. He returned to the notebook and added some new names: Adha the Chalice Treasure, Nina, and The Piece of Eden or... Apple.

This was the mystery. Who or what were they all? How were they connected? Why was Altaïr ordered to target the men he was, including the two new ones? Who was his ninth target? What did the treasures have to do with any of this? Maybe if Malik could come to understand this, he could help Altaïr deal with the issues he was having and maybe better resolve his situation and redeem himself.

His pages seemed so empty and sparse. They looked a little like this:

**Tamir**

_*dead* Damascus, Black Market Merchant, Saracen_

**Talal**

_*dead* Jerusalem, Slave Trader, Saracen_

**Garnier**

_*dead* Acre, Doctor/Torturer, Templar (French)_

**Abul**

_*dead* Damascus, Merchant King, Saracen_

**William**

_*dead* Acre Fort, City Ruler, Templar (English)_

**Madj Addin**

_*dead* Jerusalem, Regent, Saracen_

_Killed in Poor District during attempted hanging of innocent lives_

**Jubair**

_Damascus, ..., Saracen_

**Sibrand**

_Acre, ..., Templar (French)_

**King Richard**

_English King and Crusade Leader (Templar?) against the Saracens_

**Saladin**

_Saracen Leader against the Crusaders_

**Al Mualim**

_Masyaf, Leader of the Assassins _

_Fighting against the Templars_

_Seeking sacred treasures_

_- Chalice (Adha... lost to Templars)_

_- Apple / Piece of Eden (in his possession)_

**Altaïr (Flying Eagle, Son of None)**

_Elite Master Assassin hunting treasures for Al Mualim_

_Blood of "Those Who Came Before"_

_Heals faster, moves more accurately, endures longer_

_Sees shining colors on people_

_- Red: aggressors_

_- Blue: trusted friends (I am blue)_

_Sees fog when kills and speaks with the soul of the dying, or that of the dead_

_Parents drowned at docks of Acre (Altaïr age 8)_

_Subject to physical and sexual abuse at hands of mentor Al Mualim_

_Suffering post trauma symptoms_

_Given coercion drug and ordered to kill Faruq_

_Failed twice to retrieve treasures_

_Apparently executed by Al Mualim as a traitor after failure to retrieve Apple of Eden treasure_

_Was intimate with Adha the chalice_

_Married to Nina (child pending)_

_Stripped of rank to Novice status to relearn the Creed of the Assassins_

_Not the arrogant ass I thought he was..._

**Robert de Sable**

_Templar, right hand to King Richard_

_Previous possessor of Apple of Eden treasure in Solomon's Temple_

_Killed Kadar_

_I hope he is a target, if not, I will commission a contract on him myself_

**Malik (me)**

_Jerusalem, Bureau Dai, Assassins_

_Former assassin, lost arm to wound from Robert de Sable in Solomon's Temple_

_Brother of Faruq and Kadar_

**Kadar**

_*dead* Novice Assassin_

_Brother of Faruq and Malik_

_Admired the arrogant Altaïr_

**Faruq**

_*dead* Master Assassin_

_Doctor, due to retire and serve assassins in Masyaf after last mission_

_Killed on last mission by Altaïr, who was under coercion drug (by who and why?)_

**Adha**

_First woman in Altaïr's life_

_May or not have had a child by him_

_Blood of "Those Who Came Before"_

_Taught Altaïr to see shining colors on people_

_Was actually the Chalice Treasure (Sacred Vessel)_

_Lost to the Templars across the waters_

_I think Altaïr might have loved her or at the very least felt kinship with her_

**Nina**

_Hellion married to Altaïr as punishment for losing Adha_

_Ran away while pregnant with Altaïr's child_

_Marriage considered null and void_

_Al Mulaim has an open hunt for her (why?)_

_Maybe it is because of the child who will of course have Altaïr's strange blood and skills_

**Apple/Piece of Eden **

_Silvery golden ball stolen by Assassins from Robert de Sable from Solomon's Temple_

_In Al Mualim's possession_

Malik stared at the notes. He paced around the maps marking in the assassination places at least in Jerusalem. He frowned deeply at the lists. There were Saracen deaths and Templar deaths. But how did they all connect? He was missing too many pieces. He packed everything away neatly and hid it into a nook. With sudden surety, he wrote two small notes requesting information on Altaïr's targets from the Dai of each Damascus and Acre. He sent two birds on their way with those notes. He expected a rebuke and reprimand for poking his nose into another city's affairs, but it was worth a try. He had the logs for Jerusalem, so he could dig out those and add information on the Jerusalem targets.

Malik felt so awake and alive at this moment. He may not be running alongside Altaïr. But he was in a sense on a mission. This was uniquely something he could do to help that was not one of Altaïr's skills. Maybe together, they can sort out the mystery and end this war. That would certainly please Master Al Mualim and bring peace to the Kingdom.

* * *

A/N #2 – NES's review and my comments:

From: nes ()

There are a million things about this story that I really, really love, and  
I'm always so happy to see updates!

But. You keep using the word "souk" as though it means some sort of walled in  
garden or something like that, when it (سوق) actually means "marketplace"  
or "bazaar." The entranceway to the Assassin's Bureau is more of a courtyard  
than anything else, and the rooftop gardens are just that- rooftop gardens.  
Not souks.

_**OOOHHHHhhhh... I was misinformed. Thanks for clarifying! I will have to go back and make corrections throughout the chapters. I'll be sure to be correct though now in future chapters. **_

Also, in chapter 50, when Tibah talks about seeing an angel in a dream, Malik  
says "I didn't think you were Christian." Which makes it sound like there are  
no angels in Islam- and maybe that wasn't your intent there at all! But if it  
was, uh. There totally are, what with Islam and Christianity having the same  
roots as Abrahamic religions.

_**I thought as much, but wasn't sure.**_

I think it's amazing and awesome that you've put so much time and effort into  
writing this epic story, and it really shows when you've done the research on  
things like PTSD and shock and Gnosticism. It's just a little disappointing  
to see the places where your lack of research shows instead.

_**PTSD... I am just winging it! I do have a little help from some people have suffered and are willing to be informants for me. But by and large, this I have not researched. So I am glad I am coming across accurately and believably.**_

That said, I'm really looking forward to the next chapter, and I am in  
absolute awe of your ability to keep putting out updates on such a regular  
basis. Thank you for sharing this story with the rest of the fandom!

_**Thank you so much for the feedback and corrections. This is exactly what I love about the reviews. It is a means by which i learn and can improve upon the story! **_

_**Now if only someone can revise my Fajr prayer. Somehow i cringe and think it is horrible, but I cannot be sure.**_

I went to find more info now on PTSD... wow...

www .medicinenet .com/posttraumatic_stress_disorder/article .htm


	85. Chapter 85: Altair Distracted

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – The dumb things we do to distract ourselves...

* * *

Malik felt so awake and alive at this moment. He may not be running alongside Altaïr. But he was in a sense on a mission. This was uniquely something he could do to help that was not one of Altaïr's skills. Maybe together, they can sort out the mystery and end this war. That would certainly please Master Al Mualim and bring peace to the Kingdom.

It was a hard hot several days to Damascus. Altaïr made a detour to take some narrower routes northward. It was a bit of a shortcut, if you could call riding through many crusaders, Saracens and their archers a shortcut. It gave him a way to vent the irrational aggression within him. He was sure these men would be replaced by the time he made his way back through here. He refused to look back. There was too much blood and it told him he was a killer and not an assassin. Also, if he lingered, there might be that fog. He could not handle all those souls talking to him. Let them find their own way to their God.

He kicked the horse into a full run, squeezed with his legs and let go of the reigns, spreading his arms wide. It was like taking the leap of faith. It was like flying. Closing his eyes helped this feeling and allowed him to forget.

He opened his eyes lying on his back on the ground, the horse nibbling grass nearby. Everything ached. He sat up with a grown and brought his hand to his brow where he found a large painful lump. He pushed his hood back and looked around. The sun was starting to set. He frowned, which hurt, because he thought it was morning. Was he attacked? He spotted his attacker, a large overhanging branch from a nearby tree. He groaned and flopped back again. "I am such a stupid novice!"

_So much for shaving a day off the ride to Damascus._ Altaïr must have been knocked out cold all day. Even his face was sun burned from lying on his back face up all day. If any guards or crusaders had happened upon him, they surely must have laughed and left him for dead. He hated them all.

That hatred nearly resulted in a massacre at the next fort. Altaïr turned his horse back and forth debating how he was going to deal with passing through the fort. His mind slid smoothly into analyzing the terrain, counting the men, locating the archers, calculating distances. It would be eighty some odd deaths in his wake. He ran the blockade full tilt instead.

It was fort after watch tower after fort after blockade. Some he ran through. Some he fought through. It became routine after the tenth. He surprised a Templar in one of the narrow shortcuts. Or was that the other way around? He leapt from his horse to face him. The Templar yells ASSASSIN! Altaïr yelled back with an equal snarl, "TEMPLAR!" And they clashed blades. It lasted but a few moments. Altaïr was cleaning his blade on the Templar's robes.

He stood with a hard cold glare. A guard was running up to see what the noise was and nearly stumbled to a halt. Golden eagle eyes evaluated their next prey. The guard bolted in panic. Altaïr mounted his and rode the rest of the way to Damascus.

The Dai of Damascus was especially welcoming with his platitudes and requests for news of Altaïr's adventures. Considering some of the previous odd encounters and the refusal to heal him, Altaïr was not particularly interested in being social, not that Altaïr was any good at being social anyways. According to the Dai, Jubair was the city's top scholar. It made little sense why Al Mualim would want this life. Altaïr was directed south into the middle district of the city to hunt for his information about his target. There was some sort of preaching of a New World, or so the Dai mentioned. Altaïr was eager to learn more.

He eavesdropped on a conversation and returned to the Bureau with the news as he would in Jerusalem after each juicy bit of information. The rafiq dared suggest that Altaïr was under some occult spell when he should be in the academic district and not... "Yet here you are, Altaïr, stumbling around the Bureau."

Altaïr repressed a growl. "I am not stumbling."

"So defensive," the rafiq didn't even bother to look at Altaïr as he searched hi8s shelves for a new pot to paint. "Feeling... paranoid? Out of sorts?"

"I'll be going now," Altaïr spat and almost stomped into the open roof room.

The rafiq called over his shoulder, "Keep mind and body pure, Altaïr. Resist further temptation!"

It was the most bizarre thing he had heard from a Dai or rafiq. It reminded him a little of what Al Mualim had said and yet rang with a vague familiarity to the same strange ramblings of the men he had just eavesdropped on.

* * *

A/N #2 – I ran into writer's block half way through this chapter. I ranted and paced my house and all I wanted to do was write Malik stuff! WTF! I had to go back to the game and PLAY this whole mission over just for ideas. If you do not get the minimum investigations done and return to the rafiq of the Damascus Bureau, then you get this interesting freakish dialogue. It creeped me out the first time it happened. Oh those brainwashed Dai...


	86. Chapter 86: Malik: God and Blades

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Sometimes children are exactly what the doctor ordered.

* * *

It was the most bizarre thing he had heard from a Dai or rafiq. It reminded him a little of what Al Mualim had said and yet rang with a vague familiarity to the same strange ramblings of the men he had just eavesdropped on.

Malik stared for two days at the notes he had taken. He could get no further without information from the other city Dai's logs. Waiting with little to do was what Malik hated most about this job. He wanted to be out there, gathering information himself, feeling his blade bite deep into a target. He took up his knife and a handful of little throwing knives. Tonight would be about practice.

The night air was brisk against his skin as he stood in just his pants in the main Bureau room. He had a target mounted on the back of the front door. The throwing knives lined the counter beside his incense pot. His dark eyes narrowed as he imagined his target as a Templar or more often as Robert de Sable. THUNK! Thunk thunk thunk! He threw with rapid succession. CLATTER! His last blade flew wide and bounced off the stone wall. He hadn't really aimed it, but flung it with annoyance. The others had hit the target but not in the grouping he had wanted. They were grouped with maybe six inched between the widest. He scowled at the group like they were a reminder of his crippled state and uselessness. He wanted no more than three inches. He packed them away to practice again later.

Malik gripped the knife in his hand with the blade pointing down toward his elbow. In knife fighting, he preferred this reverse grip. It was harder for opponents to predict the pending sting. He breathed letting his back and chest adapt to the cool air before moving very slowly through each move, honing precision, refining positions, working the muscles, before he sped the moves to normal. His blade whooshed through the air the silvery edge glinting in neat sparks from the reflection of the lamp on the counter. He stilled after the workout and just held the ready pose with his elbow up.

He knew he was still good, still a master with the sword, but he had neglected some of the other blades. Since he seemed to have acquired a blades trainee, who was due in the morning, Malik felt he ought to refresh himself. He didn't want to admit how much he looked forward to the intrusion of the little novice. He loved their little talks about philosophy and the way of the assassin. He relished the boy's fascination and curiosity with anything Malik could teach him. He remembered how wonderful Altaïr had been with the boy when he saved the boy's life. He wished Altaïr were here. In a way, it would be like having a son of their own to train together.

_Where did THAT unexpected thought come from?_

He knew though. It was part of the last things he was reading in the trance notes before training.

_**I wish we could have adopted one together as we had planned.**_

_**I still love you. But so much has happened between us that I know you no longer love me.**_

Malik set down the knife feeling tension and pain in his chest.

_**You had said it would only be fair if I died.**_

_Don't die out there Altaïr. You promised to come back to me. Don't you dare leave me behind that way. I would rather you lived. Allah, help him to listen to me for once. I would rather he lived._

He shivered in the cold night air and returned to his room to bundle in his black robe and a blanket. He lifted a tile and placed the trance journals into the deep hole there, along with the maps and notes about Altaïr's missions and targets and treasures. He almost added Altaïr's personal journal when he decided he wanted to keep that out. It got tucked under his pillow. Malik replaced the stone tile and kicked the corner of his bed mat back over it.

Altaïr had wanted Malik to hide his insanity. Malik didn't think Altaïr was insane, suffering post trauma, but not insane. Altaïr experienced things differently from other people. He started to think and question his actions, evaluate the morals of them. That was not insane. If it was, then Malik shared that insanity in spades!

Malik woke with a start to the sound of a voice in the Bureau. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes shocked he had slept in. The voice continued in his still high pitch in a rhythmic prayer. It stumbled here and their through the Hebrew words that were obviously still s bit unfamiliar. Malik came to check on Junayd, leaning in the doorway to the open air room and a smile he didn't realize was on his face. "Recite it again, novice. Your Hebrew needs work." Malik prepared breakfast for them as he listened offering the occasional correction.

Junayd began the Hebrew prayer again:

**Yigdal Elokim chai vehishtabach**  
**nimtza ve'ein et el metziuto**

**Echad ve-ein yachid keyichudo  
nelam vegam ein sof leachduto**

**Ein lo demut haguf ve-eino guf  
lo na-a-roch elav kedushato**

**Kadmon lechol davar asher nivra  
Rishon ve-ein reishit lereishito**

**Hino adon olam, lechol notzar  
Yoreh gedulato umalchuto**

**Shefa nevuato netano  
el aneshel segulato vetifarto**

**Lo kam beYisrael keMoshe od  
Navi umabit et lemunato**

**Torat emet natan leamo El  
Al yad nevio ne-eman beito**

**Lo yachalif haEl, velo yamir  
Dato, leolamim lezulato**

**Tzofeh veyodeya setareinu  
Mabit lesof davar bekadmato**

**Gomeil le-ish chesed kemifalo  
Notein lerasha ra kerishato**

**Yishlach lekeitz yamin pedut olam  
Kol chai veyeish yakir yeshuato**

**Chayei olam nata betocheinu  
Baruch adei ad shem tehilato**

When the boy was done and Malik sat to eat breakfast with him he asked, "What does it mean? I have to memorize it, but I want to know what it means. And why can't we say god or write god? They hit my knuckles when I did and made me pray for forgiveness."

Malik sipped his Turkish coffee, not part of what he was making the morning routine with the boy. "The name of Gad is so sacred to the Jews that it is taboo to speak it or write it. It is a matter of respect. They don't write it in any place that might on purpose of by accident be discarded, because you never was to discard god. YHVH is rare spoken and only by the priests and rabbis on holy days. It should not pass your lips unless you are devoted to the Jewish god and becoming a rabbi or priest."

"But you just..."

"I am not Jewish," Malik stated plainly. "Also, I believe god would prefer you understood properly in order to respect him properly. There are no secrets between you and god, and never should be. Learning, understanding... lead to wisdom." Malik then translated the prayer for Junayd:

Exalted be the Living G-d and praised  
He exists - unbound by time in His existence

He is One - and there is no unity like His Oneness  
Inscrutable and infinite is His Oneness

He has no semblance of a body nor is He corporeal  
Nor has His holiness any comparison

He preceded every being that was created  
The First, and nothing precedes His recedence

Behold! He is Master of the universe to every creature  
He demonstrates His greatness and His sovereignty

He granted His flow of prophecy  
To His treasured splendrous people

In Yisrael none like Moshe arose again  
A prophet who perceived His vision of truth

G-d gave His people a Torah of truth  
By means of His prophet, the most trusted of His household

G-d will never amend nor exchange His law  
For any other one, for all eternity

He scrutinizes and knows our hiddenmost secrets  
He perceives a matter's outcome at its inception

He recompenses man with kindness according to his deed  
He places evil on the wicked according to this wickedness

By the End of Days he will send Mashiach  
To redeem those longing for His final salvation

G-d will revive the dead in His abundant kindness  
Blessed forever is His praised Name.

So the heir morning lesson began with discussing the nuances of Hebrew prayer and comparing it to the Muslim dawn prayer. This moved into the Creed again and a discussion on whether the assassins had their own religion or god. Malik told the boy to hold that question for their next lesson or they would never get to hold blades today. All calm was gone instantly when the boy realized he would HOLD a blade today.

Malik chuckled as he set up the target and instructed Junayd how to throw little knives. When the boy left with a throwing knife in a sheath he was instructed to care for and return (unbloodied), Malik felt like he would want this every day. Teaching, training, company. But that would mean admitting his loneliness and need for assistance. He was not prepared to reinforce the notion that he was a cripple.

* * *

A/N #2 – mmmm... half nude Malik... thanks doubleleaf!

http:/ doubleleaf .deviantart .com/art/halfnudeMalik-145658593

A/N #3 – prayer taken from this website: http:/ prayersbeforedawn ./


	87. Chapter 87: Altair: Lone Eagle

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – You will note, if you backtrack through the chapters, they there are changes. I made adjustments according to the corrections provided by amazing reviewers. Also, my new beta reader is plugging away through the chapters and so I am uploading her edited chapters.

* * *

Malik chuckled as he set up the target and instructed Junayd how to throw little knives. When the boy left with a throwing knife in a sheath he was instructed to care for and return (unbloodied), Malik felt like he would want this every day. Teaching, training, company. But that would mean admitting his loneliness and need for assistance. He was not prepared to reinforce the notion that he was a cripple.

It was hard to say what Malik's passions were. Altaïr would easily say it lay in three directions: being an assassin, being a scholar, being a doctor. The first was no longer an option for Malik, not that Altaïr was so sure about it. Malik was still very good with a blade in his right hand. The second, while not forbidden from Malik did happen to be an inconvenient path since the great library was in Masyaf and not easily accessible by Malik stuck in Jerusalem. The third, well, he got to practice in secret on those who passed through the Bureau whenever they had need.

Altaïr wondered why Malik didn't try to make the Bureau into a little hospital. Then he recalled all the people in the hospital in Acre. There would be no privacy or way for the brotherhood to reach Malik discreetly. He equally wondered why Malik didn't live the life of a scholar in Jerusalem. He had the skill and could easily pass. Why lean on Malik's less obvious talents and make him a map maker?

Why were thoughts of Malik plaguing Altaïr's mind and thus this mission? Because this should be Malik's mission. Jubair was the top scholar in Damascus and he was teaching and rallying people into handing over all their books and parchment scrolls to be burned. Burning them, destroying the knowledge of the past, was supposed to somehow allow for a better future. But for who? Why breed ignorance? Unless all you wanted was blind faith. Al Mualim's words about perfect citizens in obedience echoed back to him. This is exactly how.

Altaïr followed some of Jubair's students as they collected books for the daily burnings and then listened to their daily lessons. The preached a New World Order. A New Dawn or Age. Malik would lose his mind watching all this knowledge being destroyed.

The days merged into weeks as Altaïr collected information and avoided the Bureau of Damascus. Altaïr wondered if Malik was ever bored. He stretched on his belly looking over a roof's edge into a courtyard as another book burning. Malik could not possibly be bored. He was ALWAYS busy. Altaïr always felt like he was interrupting. Maybe if Malik had an assistant or apprentice, then he would have some free time to do the things he liked doing. Maybe then, he would be less... grouchy?

Altaïr rolled swiftly out of view as someone looked up in his direction. The back of his left elbow connected with the corner of a stone wall. The first thought was that a thin blade slid in above his elbow all the way to a finger he no longer had. Then everything from the elbow down went numb. His wrist blade jumped out to cut one of his fingers. Good thing that third finger was already severed, or he would have that new pain to contend with. He lay on his back gripping his elbow refraining from cursing aloud. Each focused breath brought waves of tingles and pain. Soon came more normal sensations. He had to forcible shove the wrist blade back into place. After several minutes where he wondered his Malik felt like this all the time and if he had somehow fractured his elbow, he breathed a huge sigh of relief to have both sensation and mobility. There would certainly be a bruise there later.

He sucked at the blood from his cut fingers as he slunk away from the scene he was spying on. He quietly grumbled around the fingers in his mouth till he found a covered roof garden with strewn carpets. He rolled into it for the evening. In the fading light, he inspected the cuts on his fingers. They were not so bad. He pulled off his fingerless glove and a little roll of gauze from a belt pouch. He bandaged the fingers already hearing Malik criticize him for not washing it first. He cussed and washed the cuts with water from one of his drinking bottles, THEN bandaged them and replaced his glove. He inspected the blade and made sure it was clean too.

He closed his eyes to rest. The stinging in his fingers stirred long forgotten memories of when he endured the loss of his third finger.

_The rite of passage of all those destined to be assassins approached. Malik and Altaïr would go through it together before all those of the Order who were present. They were so excited they behaved like children all morning. Faruq came for Malik and walked away with him. Altaïr suddenly felt left out. Faruq was giving Malik instructions on what was to come and why, as well as care afterwards. They wandered off to be alone together and discuss the meaning of the Creed and of being an Assassin. Golden eyes tracked the eighteen year old Malik till the brothers were out of sight._

_No one came for Altaïr. No one supported his new life change to come. No one explained the challenge to come. No one advised with medical care. No one sat with him to discuss the Creed or the meaning of being an Assassin. Altaïr climbed a roof and sat to wait till he was summoned. His thoughts alone as guidance. He knew this was a serious matter. Below the Brotherhood gathered and organized themselves for the rite. He kept reminding himself that he was not going through this alone. All the members of the order present would be there and he would be going through side by side with Malik. _

_Altaïr held his left hand in the air to look through the spread fingers at the sun. He had to blink lots, but it was like the wing tip of a golden eagle. Soon there would be a gap, a clipped feather, to make room for a deadly talon. He hoped to meet up with Malik before the rite, but that was not the case. Malik and Faruq arrived below with the rising of the noon sun. Faruq was to do the rite for Malik. _

_Al Mualim arrived and asked the whereabouts of Altaïr. All thoughts of childishness flew on panicked wings leaving behind a too adult young man of sixteen. Altaïr leapt gracefully off the roof, diving into the oblivion, into the hay stack only a few feet from the gathered men. He stood and brushed himself off. As he walked past Malik to take his place before Al Mualim, he heard Malik snip, "show off." It wasn't like Altaïr had intended to make a dramatic entrance._

_Both young men placed their left hands upon a block. Malik was sweating. It dampened his hair and dripped down his face. Altaïr breathed evenly, finding that pattern that allowed him to be blank and not feel. He closed his eyes and felt a familiar aging hand over his. There was a cold sharp edge over his finger and he was instructed to take a deep breath. As he did so there was a dual crunch. Malik let out a strangled cry and clamped his other hand over his mouth to smother any others. Altaïr grunted. There was this burning tingling and stinging all through his hand. _

_They were instructed to stand. They did, though Malik wavered a little, looking unusually pale. The slightly bloody block was pulled away. Al Mualim approached Malik fist and asked him to kneel. He dubbed Malik with his eagle sword, welcoming him among the Brothers of the Order of Assassin. Malik was recovering from the initial shock of pain. Euphoria taking over with the rush of adrenalin. Faruq guided Malik away after that for treatment and a bath and later a meal among the full assassins. Altaïr kneeled next without instruction. He kept his eyes down as Al Mualim dubbed him too on each shoulder with the eagle blade. Altaïr felt a hand rest almost fatherly upon his head. "Rise Altaïr, you are now one of us, one of the Assassins."_

Altaïr held his hand up to look through the fingers at the thin veils of the covered roof garden. The barest soft glow of the crescent moon illuminated the patters of the fabric. Altaïr did not feel like one of the Order members. He felt very alone.

* * *

A/N #2 – Art... sweet art: http:/ doubleleaf .deviantart .com/art/Initiation-142309373


	88. Chapter 88: Malik Makes a Deal

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – I feel like reminding people of the opening statement to this FF

_The trials and tribulations of two friends who have grown together and been driven apart in duty and tragedy. Does time heal all wounds and reveal all truths? What secrets are sealed in silence and bound by trust? When you see the great eagle soaring, can you see how broken the wings of its soul are? Assassins endure in the shadows and fly the moment they are seen. The eagle mates for life and soars solo and lonely when its mate is lost till its body and soul dies._

_

* * *

_

Altaïr held his hand up to look through the fingers at the thin veils of the covered roof garden. The barest soft glow of the crescent moon illuminated the patterns of the fabric. Altaïr did not feel like one of the Order. He felt very alone.

Malik stared at the new notes that arrived in response to his request for information from Acre and Damascus. He felt like he was working alone.

_The Great King of Swords needs to remember he is only a Dai, a rafiq, of the city of Jerusalem. The affairs of Damascus are none of his. Considering your earlier harsh words to me regarding the "lack of care" given to a man to never even sought it, I am disinclined to assist. If you are plotting revenge for your brother's death, you will have to wait till after the Master is done with Altaïr. The Master has been notified of your curiosity. Best clean your incense pot of its narcotics when the inspector comes._

He pulled out the little knife at his belt and stabbed the note. He stabbed it maybe a dozen times as he vented angrily. _If I ever become Master of the Order, I will have you replaced!_ Not that Malik ever expected he would become Master of the Order, not with one arm.

_Malik, you know better than to ask for such information. Master Al Mualim best knows the connections of Altaïr nine targets. I suggest you ask him. As you seem to have calmed your anger with him, I promise to keep a good eye on our eagle when next he is in my city. Safety and peace from Acre, Brother._

Reading the second note at least did not anger Malik, but still left him feeling alone and left out. He wrote a short note to Al Mualim, _Master Al Mualim. Safety and peace from Jerusalem. I wish to understand the punishment more clearly given to Altaïr and the connection of these nine targets, especially in light of the growing threat to our order and my messages to you about a potential traitor yet again in the midst of Masyaf. Have you any information you can share with me? Malik._ The pigeon took flight immediately upon release.

Just to make Malik's day more complicated, his front door opened. He shoved the dagger and notes away under his counter and drew out a have finished stupidly artistic map for a wealthy merchant. He politely ignored the argument that happened in his doorway.

"Tibah, this is TOO bold. The rafiq is respected. These kinds of private visits are becoming indecent." A guard, the brother grumbled harshly at the young woman.

"Considering your... affairs, Kadar, I don't think you have any right to tell me what I can and cannot do and what is indecent or not." Her words bit back angrily.

Malik's head snapped up at the name Kadar. Tibah's brother was also called Kadar. He wondered if that was a sign. No, he knew it was a sign.

Tibah entered and approached the counter, tugging her veil down under her chin. "Hello rafiq. I came to see if you were in need of anything and if you had considered my request. Also, I have word from my father especially for you." She placed a sealed message tube on the counter near the intricate map. "Oh... pretty. I did not know you could draw so well!"

Malik blushed and cleared his throat. She wanted his trust. How much of that could he give her? He was of the Order of Assassins and she was not. Yet, he broke some of his secrecy with her already, or rather Altaïr had when Altaïr had stormed half naked from the back room into the main Bureau as Tibah had entered. So the back room and fake wall curtain was no longer a secret to her. By the rules of the Bureau, he should have broke off contact with her and moved, and even requested a replacement. Why he had not, he was not sure. Maybe it was because she was able to provide the medical supplies he needed and craved that he could not even get from Masyaf. Maybe it was that she was considerate enough to always check in on him to see how he was doing lately. Maybe it was the strange dream with the angel that he too had seen. Now, it was the brother named Kadar. Would it be so bad to take a wife?

Then he remembered the horror and embarrassment of her realization that his interests do not lie in women, but men and that he was by her standards way too old for her. "Miss Tibah, I am well and need of nothing you can provide today. Though your company is most welcome. Safety and peace." He almost thudded his head into the counter when the words slid from his lips. She smiled prettily back at him and dipped a little curtsy. "I have considered your request. It is still quite impossibly for me to take you on as an apprentice. Even if your father permitted it, your brother is right about the indecency of studying alone with me." Her eyes and smile both fell and Malik felt like he smacked a kitten.

He fumbled for a solution. The risks he was taking here already were not good, or maybe were totally amazing. He found he wanted to teach her. She knew more about medicines that he could ever try to understand. He had never studied the mysteries of making them. She had ingenuity that was exciting and a willingness to explore those ideas. She had given him gut threads and curved sewing needles to develop new surgical techniques.

"Maybe, if we were far better at being discreet, we can arrange something. Please wait here." Malik stepped through the fake wall into his back room asking himself over and over what he was doing. This was NOT taking care of the situation! This was engaging with it and worsening it. Yet, it gave him such a thrill. If he was going to be left out of the loop on some things, then he could return the favour and leave them out of the loop of some of his affairs. Altaïr was the only one who knew of Tibah. Maybe Malik's informants did too, but those were purely loyal to him and the old Dai, whom he also trusted and whom had his own secrets.

Malik returned from the back room seeing Tibah watching the fake curtain with amazement. He glanced back over his shoulder. "I sleep back there and have all my personal amenities. The curtain I painted myself so the average person would think it were just part of the wall. It is an optical illusion that serves well, till someone moves it." The pride swelled in his chest as she commented how amazing it and he was. It was so rare that Malik had heard praise directed at him these days. He found himself smiling with that pride and wanted to earn more such praise.

He places a large tome on the counter. "Miss Tibah, if you want my trust, I need first your promise that nothing we do together, nothing that you witness within this Bureau is ever mentioned in any way to anyone, not even family." Tibah nodded and swore to Allah her loyalty and her silence. "Good. Then you will begin with this. I expect you to have read it through entirely, be able to draw any image, and identify every part by heart in the two languages of this text on anatomy. When you know this book better than your own body, then you may return for your next lesson. You must NEVER call me master; I am rafiq to you always unless I say otherwise. I will never call you apprentice or novice, you are Miss Tibah. It is of utmost importance to keep these formalities especially in public."

Tibah drew the book to her and hugged it like the greatest treasure in the world. Malik smiled gently, and so knowledge should be regarded as such. Only then did he open the message tube, breaking the seal. It was in her father's hand which was rare. Something must be very important indeed. He read the first part of the message:

_In one of the boats I had secured for shipping, i found a crate. None of the crew knew how it got there. It was heavy and wax sealed with a label on it i do not recognize. I was about to sink it over the side, then thought maybe it was of some importance. I wished not to open it in case it is some foreign dangerous plant or substance that needs special care. I thought it best then to contact you for a translation. Vellum – Vélin. _

Malik gasped. Tibah's father had a whole crate of vellum sealed and ready to use. It was worth, well, almost a king's ransom. Such crates only went to the Churches for their manuscripts. "Miss Tibah, you may tell your father, that the mystery crate is nothing he can use. I wish him not to sink it in the sea though; I will happily take it off his hands. Advise him to remove any labels as soon as he can. He can relabel the crate mapping supplies. If any Templars or crusaders from the western world find him with a crate of vellum, he would be executed. Vellum... is fancy paper. That, I can definitely use. I will pay him well for it if he wishes."

Not that Malik had any idea how he would come up with that amount, but by Allah he would do his best. Vellum, properly waxed after it has been written upon, made the very best manuscripts that could survive centuries! Torahs, Qurans, Bibles, codices were recorded on them. Maps that went to see were drawn upon them. Anything you wanted truly preserved could be written or drawn on vellum and then waxed.

He stopped advising Tibah on something she clearly did not know about having not read her father's note to Malik. He pulled out a parchment and wrote his message upon it, then read the other half of the note:

_I am pleased by my daughter's interest in you and yours in her. I hope perhaps that you two are engaging in further conversations together. I noted your shyness with her. She is a good girl. She would make a good wife. We will talk more of this when I return. I am so honoured that it is you, a respected rafiq, which has caught her eye._

Malik choked. He turned crimson all the way down his neck. At Tibah's inquiry of her father's message, he reddened further and turned the note over. She did not need any further encouragement or ideas. He wrote to her father the last thinks of wanting to meet with the man upon arrival to discuss the matter of the man's daughter. Why did Malik feel like he just put a noose around his own neck?

He folded his return note, sealed it in the message tube and instructed Tibah to get that to her father right away. "And take very good care of my book, Miss Tibah. Knowledge is power. Respect it and learn from it and use it wisely."

After Tibah had left, all Malik could think about was his sense of betrayal. He did not want a wife. He did not need a wife. He shamefully only wanted... Altaïr. He felt lonely, deeply lonely without that very annoying company. He wondered what Altaïr was doing now. He worried about Altaïr in Damascus with that... that... Malik had no nice, not even neutral word for the Dai of that Bureau. He hoped Altaïr was alright.

* * *

A/N #2 – I found a picture that is perfect for Tibah. Any artists out there was to do some art based on this... please do!

_http:/ nya99 .deviantart .com/art/Hidden-Away-144144288_

A/N #3 – and here is some research on Vellum:

_www .cbbag __.__ ca /BookArtsWeb/ Vellum .html_

_http:/ en .wikipedia .org/wiki/Vellum_

_http:/ classes .bnf . __fr /phebus /explo /index3b .htm_


	89. Chapter 89: Altair Screamed Like a Girl

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – There are some things little boys NEVER forget.

* * *

After Tibah had left, all Malik could think about was his sense of betrayal. He did not want a wife. He did not need a wife. He shamefully only wanted... Altaïr. He felt lonely, deeply lonely without that very annoying company. He wondered what Altaïr was doing now. He worried about Altaïr in Damascus with that... that... Malik had no nice, not even neutral, word for the Dai of that Bureau. He hoped Altaïr was alright.

Altaïr's weeks blurred together as he gathered information. He refused to enter the Damascus Bureau until he had everything he could learn, as well as a plan for his assassination. Each thing he learned made him grind his teeth. Malik would be freaking out over the loss of books and knowledge. It angered Altaïr in Malik's stead. The fact that Jubair that day shoved one of his followers into the pyre of burning books and watched him scream and die in the flames for hinting had saving something only further secured Altaïr's understanding of Al Mualim's wish to end this man. Jubair even had his own wife executed for hiding books of her own.

He knew what his target looked like. He learned the man's schedule throughout a week. He obtained maps of locations to where meetings were held. He formulated a plan of action. Feather in hand, Altaïr was flying over roof tops to the Madrasah Al Kallasah, square courtyard of sorts where the scholar met regularly.

Altaïr blanked his mind of all other worries, all concerns, all desires. The mission, the target, the rush of that single kill became everything. As much as Altaïr promised to remain invisible, but a blade in the crowd, it was far easier to leave a blood bath behind when discovered. If they were all dead, then they would not chase him and he need not run away.

He arrived a little too late; the last bloody push for the book burning had begun. He knew his main target was Jubair, but he had this moment were he could feel Malik distressing about the books and the innocent lives. The moral line was very thin. With a snarl, Altaïr ran off to deal with the smaller of the troubles, five of Jubair's trusted. They were easy kills with throwing knives from discreetly chosen perches high above. Jubair was another matter. He wounded him, and then had to chase him through the city. He wanted to hack him to bits or burn him on a book pyre for the trouble of the chase.

Jubair's soul spoke in the fog of death to Altaïr. He tried not to listen, but the fogged moments forced him to and then faded leaving him with more questions. It left an ill taste in his mouth. These men did not work for either King Richard or Saladin. Templars then. The enemy needed a name.

He made it to the Bureau with the city alarm ringing loudly as usual. The Dai there praised him for his deed as he accepted the bloodied feather. He glanced at Altaïr's wounded and pretended they were not there. Altaïr did not ask for aid.

Altaïr knew he should either go to Acre or Masyaf after this kill, but he made a promise. It was a relief to kick up sand out in the kingdom, flying on the back of a horse. Although, this time he pulled no more foolish stunts that might land him on his back with a bump on his head. His first overnight in a ruined hut with stale hay for the horse allowed him to rinse his wounds and bind them tightly with the remainder of his gauze. There was a working water pump, so he filled a bucket and washed the blood from his robed, scrubbing them with bluing balls from his belt pouch. That brought them back to mostly white. He filled his water bottles and tried to sleep.

It was easier to forget what had happened to him in Masyaf being so far away and having just experienced the rush of a successful mission. It was like all the horrors were just dreams, bad dreams, but still just dreams. The worn carpet in the hut was soft. He stretched out on his back mostly nude with just a scratchy horse blanket. He didn't care. He dreamed something pleasant for a change and chose to ignore the itchiness to stay with this wonderful dream.

_It was a partnered mission with Malik. One of their first. They were alone and lying in a ruined hut much like this one. Maybe it was this one. Or was it one of the covered roof gardens? It must have been one of those for there were many plush pillows. Malik had become the most comfortable weight upon his chest with a familiar muskiness. Altaïr likes turning his head now and then to just smell Malik's hair. Malik always slept more solidly. He rubbed Malik's back as other naughtier thoughts filled his mind and warmed his loins. For this, Malik woke._

_By dawn they had soiled the pillows. Snickering to themselves, they stepped out nude causing a woman doing laundry to run screaming off the next roof. The fun was over as she was yelling for the guards. Together they pulled on clothing, armour and weapons. They had a mission to complete and it did not involve getting caught by the guards with their pants down._

Altaïr groaned, waking feeling uncomfortable and chafed in all the most wrong places. Cursing he cooled the sensitive parts with some water and dressed. The sun had not yet risen, but that would be soon. He mounted the horse with a wince, cursing again. This is precisely why he preferred soft things! Now he would have to pay extra attention to his man parts and wash them every chance he could. He had a memory of true childhood horror to ensure he washed it carefully and well.

_It was early in his arrival to Musyaf. Altaïr and Malik had become something of friends by night and rivals by day. It was a mutual arrangement and they seemed to enjoy it. Malik had started medical studies and Altaïr was his main tool for study. "Wherever you poke me, I swear... you better let me do it back to you, Malik. I don't want to be the only one taking it."_

_Malik laughed. "Stop being such a baby, what are you going to do when you get sick or hurt? Go cry in a corner till it heals itself? Turn around and face me. I'm studying boy parts tonight." He opened his anatomy book to the images of men's penises both circumcised and not. When he saw Altaïr's and quickly stripped himself to compare. Altaïr was not circumcised and he was. "Well... I wonder why you haven't been snipped. You should be."_

_Altaïr asked incredulous, "What? Snip it? No way! Why in heaven and hell would I do that?"_

"_Because it is how you keep it clean. You don't wash often enough. And if THAT is not washed properly..." Malik dramatically shuddered. _

"_Then what?" demanded Altaïr growing concerned. _

"_Well, then it gets infected and diseased and rots on the end turning black till it has to be cut off." Malik flipped a couple pages in the book to show a line sketch of an infected penis._

_It was the first time Malik had heard Altaïr scream like a little girl. Altaïr shrieked and shrieked. He grabbed his privates with one hand and bolted naked from the room. He ran through the halls using his other hand to shove people out of the way till he got to the wash fountain and tried to scrub it clean._

_Malik pulled on his sleeping pants and stepped out more calmly to follow where he had assumed Altaïr had run. He was intercepted by Faruq, "What have you done, Malik?" _

_Malik smothered his grin and failed. "We had a lesson in hygiene. I showed him the infected man parts."_

"_Oh Malik..." Faruq tried not to be amused, but it was funny. Faruq had to remedy the situation by taking Altaïr aside and giving him more grounded instructions about hygiene. When Altaïr demanded to be circumcised, Faruq denied him and reassured him that he would not get an infection there even if he had skin there. Circumcision was a religious thing. _

Altaïr was always careful after that day to wash his parts thoroughly and ensure they never got infected. He washed at every stop lengthening his ride by several days. He heard the distant yell, "ASSASSIN!" and bolted instantly for cover. It was several minutes before he realized the yell was not at him.

* * *

A/N #2 – some chapter art:

_http:/ yazoopower .deviantart .com/art/Sleeping-Assassins-AltMal-125633840_

_http:/ doubleleaf .deviantart .com/art/getting-ready-140759357_


	90. Chapter 90: Malik Surprised

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – This is what I do when I get less than three hours sleep (2am -4:30am) and wake up... and just be... awake. *sigh* I really hope this chapter makes sense... *cringe*

* * *

Altaïr was always careful after that day to wash his parts thoroughly and ensure they never got infected. He washed at every stop lengthening his ride by several days. He heard the distant yell, "ASSASSIN!" and bolted instantly for cover. It was several minutes before he realized the yell was not at him.

It was a long couple weeks. Junayd was a joy that broke up the monotony of Malik's weeks. The boy still had lousy aim with throwing knives, but he was mastering the basic moves holding a dagger. Malik changed his night training to mornings to time it into the new routine of sometimes having a ten year old present to train with.

The informants of the city brought in their news and updates. Malik made a small list of potential targets. After not seeing anyone but his own informants for weeks, he sent a note to AL Mualim requesting news and maybe some assassins to take care of a few targets. Even the clientele diminished. Malik hated these lulls almost as much as he did waiting for an assassin to return from mission. They were BORING.

Malik had started reading Altaïr's personal journal. The first several pages were about the nightmares Altaïr suffers. The personal journal was also harder to read. It was very much like reading code. He had almost forgotten. Altaïr normally had very poor writing and spelling, it showed less in the trance journals but was still there. In this personal journal, the sentences (if you could call them that) moved from language to language randomly. Having read the trance notes, though, made the nightmares make sense. They were a mix of fog bits, walking dead, attacking Templars, being beaten into silence, sexual violations, and more and sometimes all of the above mixed together. Malik could see how sometimes Altaïr could not discern friend from foe. It took

Malik the better part of the past few weeks to read and decipher the nightmare writing. Last night's reading of the journal struck Malik hard. _What is trust? Does it have anything to do with friendship?_ Altaïr explored the notion of trust. He quoted a variety of bits of text that Malik was sure Altaïr had not studied. Maybe Altaïr was listening to him after all during those study session? Altaïr touched on intimacy and trust where it confused him the most. People are intimate with each other and care nothing for each other, and yet sometimes trust is needed to cross that line from friendship to intimacy. The writing went on to explore the concept of friendship in a similar fashion. It ended with: _Trust takes time to develop, but bare seconds to be lost. Once lost, can it ever be restored?_

Malik read on about how Altaïr had purposely pushed him away and distanced him to protect him, but didn't think anyone would know or understand why. After the trance notes, Malik understood why. The Altaïr he thought was Altaïr at Solomon's Temple was not the Altaïr on these pages and not the Altaïr that was before or after the Temple incident. In fact, what he thought was Altaïr then at the Temple really wasn't, but was a commanded soldier obeying the orders of a master against his will. Altaïr had made mistakes on that mission, but so had Malik. As he thought about it more, Altaïr's exposure to Robert would have been the perfect opportunity to sneak off with the treasure while everyone was focused on the distraction of an attacking assassin. Malik's mistake was that he had forgotten how to work in tandem.

He reread Altaïr's journal notes on trust and friendship and intimacy then packed the journal under his pillow. He paced through the Bureau missing Altaïr. He even flopped onto the pillows and carpets in the open air room and gazed through the lattice roof at the stars till he fell asleep. He hadn't even really undressed, just loosened his robes to be slightly more comfortable as the warm morning breeze and dawn sun soaked into his bones. He had been up way too late reading the journal and was now sleeping in sprawled across the soft pillows. Bits of leaves drifted from the plants in the lattice along with dust. It felt like the falling dust of Solomon's Temple. Malik frowned and stressed as his dreams drifted to the time of Kadara's death, never hearing the figure almost clumsily navigating the lattice to the opening.

A scrape and high pitched yelp shot Malik from his slumber. An informant lay turtles on his back trapped in the position by an over-sized heavily packed back pack. "Rafiq? Rafiq? Please! Help!" That was NOT one of Malik's informants. His were never this clumsy, no so young to not have a cracking voice. Maybe a novice from Masyaf? But that made no sense. Informants were usually raised and trained in a city.

Malik shook the confusion from his mind then helped the informant unstrap the backpack. "From where do you hail and why are you here?" It was a grumpy greeting, but then, Malik HAD been asleep.

"Uh... uhm... Safety and peace, rafiq Malik." The voice was altogether either too young or too feminine.

"Safety and peace," Malik said suspiciously.

The informant tugged the veil off her face and Malik gasped wide-eyes at the woman before him. "Yes, safety and peace, thank you. I hail from Acre." She glanced about to see if Malik was alone. "My husband could not be spared to come, I came in his stead. He is very ill and needs aid no one seems to be able to give. My father-in-law said this was a good opportunity to come see you and to bring something to you that you needed and asked for. No one would suspect him or my husband if I ran this errand in search of aid. I'm sorry to deceive you with my clothing." She was very awkward, not really trained as an informant but surprisingly trained enough to make her way here alive and unharmed.

Malik quickly gathered his stunned senses and invited her to rest on the carpets. He fetched a cup and a meager breakfast of fruit as hospitality. His mind swirled around the notion of a WOMAN as an informant. Had she not shown her face, he would have assumed her to be a tall young novice. She came all the way from Acre, laden with such a heavy pack, past templars and other troubles. He noted the daggers at her waist, one was bloodied. So she knew even how to use them to defend herself. But apparently she didn't know how to care for them. After eating that was the first thing he showed her. It was almost a sacrilege to leave blades bloody and uncared for. Only then was he ready to really hear her out.

First order of business was the medical aid she sought for her husband. He listened patiently to the description of his state and symptoms. He doodled some pictures for clarity which she blushed and nodded at. His conclusion was something he called testicular cancer. There was little help that could be done. He suggested she hire a horse or goat gelder to geld her husband as swiftly as possible to prevent the cancer from spreading. They would have to consider adoption after if they wanted kids and be aware that a cancer like this may show up again elsewhere in the body. It was not good news and she cried lots that morning from it.

When she was finally recovered from the shock and grief of the news, Malik learned that her pack contained a small book of notes from the Dai of Acre detailing Altaïr's missions and some tidbits about the Sibrand mission. This was dangerous material to be carting around. It was dangerous for Malik to have in his possession. He vowed to read it then stash it with the rest of the hidden things about Altaïr. Malik then helped the women thin out the unnecessary travel gear, shaking his head as he did. He sent her on her way better provisioned. He tried not to fret about a woman on the road to Acre from here all alone. He reminded himself repeatedly that she got here alright on her own, she will get back. Just as a precaution, he sent a bird out to Acre letting the Dai there know that his fledgling is coming home.

* * *

A/N #2 – stunning line art of Malik sleeping among the pillows:

_http:/ /redmorpho .deviantart .com/art/Malik-159147555_


	91. Chapter 91: Altair Saves Naheem

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – This is my last chapter for 7 days. Sorry all. I have a conference and camping trip to go to and there is no internet in the woods. I will be back in full swing again on Monday June 28, 2010. Have a wonderful week. Thanks for all the reviews! See you all soon! If I can, I will try to squeeze out one more chapter before I get on a plane.

* * *

Malik tried not to fret about a woman on the road to Acre from here all alone. He reminded himself repeatedly that she got here alright on her own, she will get back. Just as a precaution, he sent a bird out to Acre letting the Dai there know that his fledgling was coming home.

Altaïr heard the distant yell, "ASSASSIN!" and bolted instantly for cover. It was several minutes before he realized the yell was not at him. There was the clash of steel and battle cries in the distance. Another assassin was being attacked. For a few moments, Altaïr wondered if he ought to interfere. A bitter part of him wanted to wait till it was over then go inspect the carnage. The moral part of him kicked him furiously and yelled in Malik's voice about protecting the Brotherhood. He snarled and dove around a corner, dashed up a ladder, skipped across a few roofs, and ducked behind some roof crates.

From here he could peek over and see the commotion more clearly. "RUN YOU STUPID NOVICE!" Altaïr craned to see that the assassin was another mentor with apprentice. The assassin was trying to fight off about fifteen men as he was juggling the distraction of his inexperienced apprentice who only had a knife on him to fight with. Two Templars, upon hearing the commotion came to join the fight. Altaïr cursed. Both assassin and novice would be cut down. Already the assassin was badly hurt. "I SAID RUN!"

The novice turned tail and started to run as ordered. An arrow narrowly missed the novice. Altaïr's throwing knife did not miss the archer. A second archer was more accurate. The novice yowled in pain and fell with a longbow arrow through his thigh. Altaïr's feet were pounding the roof in a dead run, sword in one hand throwing knife in the other. One, two, three. Each of his thrown daggers dropped men. A Templar yelled ASSASSIN and pointed at Altaïr. He was blinding in his brilliant white robes and shining blades. The other assassin made an insane lung to deflect a blade from crashing down on the novice. It left him open for a deep stab. He was down. Altaïr took over as he made an impossible leap off the roof. His landing was broken by a guard and a Templar. The guard's ribs were crushed on impact. The Templar took the wrist blade through the gap in his helm visor.

Altaïr was deep in the battle now. His blade blurred in the brilliant sunlight. He used the light to his advantage, stepping into blind spots. The second Templar was his focus. He hoped the bloody mess he was making proved he was the more dangerous target (which he was) and that they would need to focus all their attention him. He was almost successful. The novice foolishly stood up, balancing on the one leg, dagger in hand defensively. Altaïr cursed as a couple men broke from fighting Altaïr. He leapt and landed with his knife in the calf of one of those men. He spun and clashed swords a couple times with a dying Templar. He turned and rushed the second man after the novice. His wrist blade extending and piercing the chain mail at the soldier's back. The brief moment made the soldier's blade swing wide and the novice struck terrible across the belly and with a yell buried his dagger into the soldier's throat. Altaïr had stepped back from the soldier to let the novice finish him. It was the youth's right as an assassin novice, especially one with his finger already gone, although he seemed too young for that rite and didn't have a wrist blade. The lost finger seemed very recent as well.

"Clean your blade, novice," Altaïr ordered as he walked over to the other assassin. He ignored the youth for the moment as he knelt. The novice had to learn to deal with some things on his own, like cleaning his only blade after a fight despite any injuries and dealing with his own pains. Altaïr knelt by the assassin who was remarkably still breathing, barely. He touched his hand to the man's chest.

As the assassin turned, the fog swallowed them both, blotting out all else. "Master Altaïr. My wounds... are too great to go on. Will you do me the honour?"

"Of course brother," Altaïr promised. How could he refuse such a request?

The man spoke again, "Before you do, is he alive?"

"Your apprentice?" asked Altaïr. "Yes, wounded but alive. You did right by telling him to run. If he listened the first time, he might have fared better. He'll live."

"We fled. I took him after his rite. He was too young for it, not ready. He has only been training for a couple years. Now, I will not be able to complete that training." The man sighed sadly. "We saw things in Masyaf... Altaïr! Be careful..." He started to gasp with the pain of his slowly dying breaths. "Take... Take care of Naheem..."

"I will. Go to God, Brother. Safety and peace." Altaïr ended the man's agony.

The fog faded to reveal the novice leaning on a nearby wall surveying the bloodbath Altaïr had created. He still had the long arrow through his thigh and tried not to put weight on it. "Novice Naheem, head to the horses on the east oh this small group of housing."

While the order was sharp, it was the use of his name that made the novice jump. He had not said his name to Altaïr, nor had anyone else. He struggled painfully toward the horses, limping badly.

Altaïr watched the teen, who was somewhere between fourteen and sixteen, with cold hard eyes. When Naheem rounded a corner out of sight and into the safety of cover, Altaïr stripped his Brother of almost everything so any passersby would not associate this scene with the assassins. The Creed demanded this kind of discretion as far as Altaïr was concerned. Also, the weapons and gear were too valuable to abandon and they, or at least the novice, might needs them. Altaïr figured that if he had an apprentice novice and died, he would want his gear to g0o to his novice. He felt Malik would approve. Thinking of Malik, Altaïr smiled a little. Altaïr could not keep an apprentice in tow on the missions he was assigned, but Malik could really use the extra help and company. Altaïr felt Malik would be the very best mentor. Convenient since Altaïr was heading for Jerusalem and the teen would need medical attention anyways.

Done decision! Altaïr carried the collected gear to the hiding spot near the horses and found the novice sitting awkwardly with a pained expression. He dropped the gear near the novice and inspected the arrow wound. "It is a clean puncture. I will have to remove it before we can go anywhere." He saw how the teen gave him a questioning look at the gear. "He no longer needs it where he has gone, but he would want you to earn it and use it well in his stead. His gear is now yours, Novice."

Altaïr received a resigned nod moments before the teen thumped limp to the ground no longer able to hold onto consciousness. It was just as well. Altaïr snapped on end of the arrow and shaved it with his knife so it could come out without splinters. Then with a swift tug, he pulled it from the boy's leg. He glanced at the unconscious figure and pulled the boy's pants to the knees. He poured his water bottle over the wound and used the gauze from the dead assassin's belt pouch to bind it tightly. He then lifted the boy over the saddle of one horse and tied both boy and gear to the saddle. He tied the reigns to the saddle of the other horse which he lead a ways out into the carnage. He rummaged through the other gear of the dead soldiers and Templars for food, water bottles, and bandages. Only then did he mount up and ride off for a safer location.

He took the narrow pass between the mountains till it turned in a sharp way near some water. Altaïr was careful not to misstep and fall in, but walked the horses till the path dipped to an alcove with a small decline to the water's edge. Altaïr hated the water, but would tolerate it at the edge for the sake of such necessities as washing and drinking. He laid out the horse blankets under a tree in the shade and carried the teen over to them to rest. The horses helped themselves to the lake water.

Naheem was still unconscious and had started to mumble and fever. Altaïr wished very badly that Malik was here now. _I am no good at this saving people thing, Malik. That is your specialty. What the hell do I do? Malik! What do I do?_ All he could do was strip them both down, scrub them and their clothing clean, bleach their white clothes white, dab ointment from a tiny jar onto their wounds, and watch over the youth hoping he did not die overnight.

* * *

A/N #2 – Name translations of interest since you already know Altaïr's, here are others:

Malik A-Sayf = King of Swords

Tibah = goodness, kindness

Junayd = young fighter

Naheem = (i made it up)

Kadar = powerful

A/N #3 - It seems folks confused that woman as an assassin. She is an Informant's wife. she has, however learned some of the ways of an informant and how to defend herself with a knife if attacked by a guard or thug. It is a plot device to poke Malik into considering that women are NOT helpless creatures and are perfectly capable of being trained as informants, fighters, and by logical leap, even assassins.


	92. Chapter 92: Malik: Bureau Inspection

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – OH! Wrote this on the plane ride from Montreal to Toronto. Had to wait till I got home to post it. Might even manage one more before i drive into the woods for the weekend!

* * *

Naheem was still unconscious and had started to mumble and fever. Altaïr wished very badly that Malik was here now. _I am no good at this saving people thing, Malik. That is your specialty. What the hell do I do? Malik! What do I do?_ All he could do was strip them both down, scrub them and their clothing clean, bleach their white clothes white, dab ointment from a tiny jar onto their wounds, and watch over the youth hoping he did not die overnight.

Malik could hardly believe the cooperation of the Dai of Acre, even though he had sent a negative answer via pigeon. He felt like he had popped up in the middle of some conspiracy and worried he would have to choose sides somehow within the Brotherhood. It chilled his blood to think that the Brotherhood would be divided and might actually kill each other over it. There had been a few, like Al Mualim's right hand man a couple years ago who had betrayed them and joined the Templars. He knew he could not keep this copy of Acre log notes and hid them under the floor tile with Altaïr's other trance notes.

Malik pulled out his own two journals and did some drawing in one as he thought about the informant's wife who had surprised him the other day. He drew a picture of a random woman in informant clothing. Then for fun, he drew one in novice clothes and one in master assassin clothes. She had given him much to consider. She had had training, clearly, but with many gaps. She knew how to maneuvers through and between cities like an assassin. She knew the greetings and the gestures of an informant. She knew enough self-defense with a dagger to bloody it and keep alive and unharmed. Obviously, her husband kept the blades clean and had not taught her that basic. He wanted so badly to inform the Dai of Acre about that. A women! Doing the equal of a man!

His mind was too full to write anything in his own journal. He tucked it away under the floor tile with Altaïr's journal. He didn't want to look at all this for a couple days. He saw how Altaïr called it insanity. The questions in Altaïr's journal were full of moral quandaries that were challenging for even Malik. Although, Malik had a much better understanding of the Creed and leaned on that for most explanations. He wished Altaïr were here so he could have a talk with him about the Creed, talks like Malik had with the little novice, Junayd. Now though, he needed a break. That wealthy merchant that annoyed him so much wanted the fancy map and Malik was not yet done since he had distracted himself so much with Altaïr's affairs.

He made sure the floor tile was secured and adjusted his bed mat over it so he felt no lumps. He slid his drawing journal between some medical books. There he paused to consider his advice to the woman about her husband's tumours. It was late afternoon and the woman was long gone. He really hopes the cancer was in the early stages and not the later ones. He sighed and returned to working on that fancy map in the main room.

He had not put out his open flag today because he wanted the time to focus on the damnable map. It was so fiddly with the art and all the colours. The soft thud of assassin boots in the open air room did not deter Malik from his work, though did make him frown. He was about to snap a warning at the newcomer to not bump the counter until out of the corner of his eyes he noticed the strange robes. It was one of Al Mualim's personal informant-assassins. They get sent out to check on major incidents and report direct to him. If Altaïr were more schooled in manners and more educated, that would be the next rank for him to move into once he redeemed himself. Malik fumbled out the standard greeting. "Safety and Peace, master informant." _Why is he here? Oh Allah, is this because of the Dai of Damascus? That bastard! I am not a traitor to be looked into._

"Safety and peace, Dai," the informant spoke dully as he pulled out a wrapped charcoal stick and a thick yet small notebook. He was already jotting notes of things he saw in the open air room, tasted the water of the fountain and made a note, looked into the grate of the non-functional fountain and made another note, turned pover cushions and pillows and made more notes. He then took the pole and closed the lattice roof, checking the locking mechanism and ensuring it remained closed and locked before he entered the main Bureau room.

Malik's anxiety grew. He remembered Faruq's fate. Maybe Faruq asked one too many questions? Maybe he poked his nose where he should not have, just as Malik had? His hand felt tingly and remembered to breathe. He wondered what on earth this man was doing and was eternally grateful for his diligence this week to lock and hide the journals and notes. The old Dai had assured him that the movable floor tile was a secret that he alone knew existed. It raised more questions in Malik's mind about the old Dai, questions he wanted to ask if he survived this man. He already calculated distances and speed to blades, observed the man's entrance and counted the blade he could see on him and added the blades he could not see but that likely were still there. The man was missing his left third finger, so he had a wrist blade.

The intruder, for that is how Malik regarded him, poked around the entire main room. "Do you play checkers or chess? Did you with Altaïr when he stayed here?" He made notes as he opened the supply trunk making a full inventory of it.

"No," Malik lied smoothly. It was not really a lie. They did not play but communicate with the game board and it was while Altaïr was on mission, not while he was staying and healing. "I doubt he could," Malik added caustically.

Before Malik could say anything more the intruder made a demand, "I assume all the informants are the same, so put out the all summons flag for them. I will want to meet them all."

Malik blinked and then frowned, "The... what? And... why?"

Now the intruding ranked informant looked directly at Malik, "You have been here an entire year and don't know the flag codes? Every informant knows them. Every rafiq and every Dai."

Malik felt stupid for not knowing. The man's implication was that he was incompetent. "No, I do not know. No one informed me that I had to know. I was an assassin before I became a Dai."

"Oh right," the man said as if he had forgotten what was very much common knowledge. He turned back to the supply trunk and popped open a secret drawer that Malik did not know existed in the lid. He removed a thin booklet and placed it on the counter. "I suggest you turn to page five and find that flag code and then set out the proper flag. As for your question of why, this is the one year anniversary so to speak of you being here. I inspect this Bureau annually. I expect your full cooperation and transparency of all documents."

This was worse than Malik had expected, but it was not a death sentence, unless he found something. Malik's mind frantically ran through a mental check of all things that could in any way be incriminating. He was loyal to the Order, always had been. He had a good reputation and defended the Creed fiercely. He opened the booklet to page five where there was indeed a list of flag codes. Some he knew as informants had advised him along his time here. Those included the open and closed for business, and the general summons if he needed an informant for a task. He memorized the list after reading it a few times, all but the more complicated patterned flags for summoning a particular informant. As he read the inspector plopped the proper flag on the counter for the all summons, indicating that they are all in the compartment hiding on the trunk's lid. Malik unlocked the front door with his key and set out the flag, feeling bad about the all summons for this. He returned to devour the new piece of information, being the remainder of the small book with regulations, procedures, and advice for Dai of a Bureau.

He endured the repeated embarrassment of this man inspecting the very nit and grit of the Bureau. The inspector criticized Malik's lack of cleanliness and poor methods of inventory when he climbed up to the wide ledge platform that ran nearly the entire circumference of the main room. Malik wanted to kick himself for not making more effort to get up there and see what was stored there and to clean it. He wanted to kick himself more when the inspector found crates with the items Malik had sent a request message to Masyaf for. Slapped his palm to his face and groaned to himself.

The inspector recorded items and comments in his notebook. Malik wanted to burn them both. He tried not to glare at the inspector when the man checked every single book in the Bureau and every single slip of paper. Malik winced and turned red when the man flipped through his drawing journal and stopped at the women in assassin and informant uniforms. "Fantasizing?" asked the inspector. Beyond the humiliation of it, at least it negated suspicion of his preferred interest in men.

The inspector then invaded the back room where Malik slept. He turned everything over as he had ever other room so far. Malik ground his teeth and clenched his fist. Sweat dampened his chest and spine when the inspector lifted each item of his bed, yet did not notice the floor tile. Malik's heart was pounding. "Are you looking for something specific or just searching for bugs and mice?" Malik's tone carried the hints of annoyance and venom he was well known for and caused the inspector to look up at him.

"Dai, a report against you had been filed and it is my job to ensure everything is as it should be, including you." Short, curt, and accusatory.

Malik hated the Dai of Damascus even more and was certain now that this deep inspection was on his request. He only hoped his complaint about that Dai for neglecting his duty to tend wounded assassins earned him equal deep inspection. Maybe this was revenge for that? When the informant explored all the medical supplies and medicines, Malik had to explain each one. He made sure to use the most technical of terms and the greatest of details just to prove he was not so ignorant as this inspector was making him out to be. Malik had a reputation of healing everyone who passed through his Bureau and for saving every life. Then he remembered that on paper, he failed to save one boy novice.

The inspector moved to the kitchen and waste room making notes there as well, "You need to clean your sewage and drains. If you are incapable of doing it yourself, maybe we should assign you an assistant." Translation was that maybe they ought to place someone there to watch Malik and make sure he obeyed their wishes or remained appropriately ignorant.

"No, I can do it. I may have lost an arm, but I am not that crippled."

"Good," the inspector stated, "then when the follow up inspector arrives in two weeks, he can expect to see the changes I have noted to you about the cleanliness and inventory of the upper levels." To add to that, the inspector went up the stairs to go through everything on the second floor.

Malik hated this man, hated him almost as much as he hated the Templars and Robert de Sable. The situation was the same with this second floor needing to be cleaned and properly inventoried. Malik chastised himself for not doing so all year during his moments of boredom. He followed the inspector to hear the humiliating comments as the man scribbled in his notebook. The roof earned a similar inspection and the crates there were opened. More supplies he had requested were revealed. Face met palm again for Malik.

He locked the hatch when they re-entered. As bade, he opened the lattice roof of the open air room so the informants could all make their way in throughout the day and possibly evening. That meant this inspector was staying long. Malik tried not to growl at him too much, tried to be a good host to a man he hated. The inspector then asked for the log book. The inspector lifted a book from his carry pack and sat at the table to transcribe all the year's log records. Here Malik blanched. The man miraculously missed the journal of training ideas for the little novice and other plans that Malik had in another hidden wall space under the counter. However, Malik had other things recorded in the large log book that he scrambled in his head to explain for he would surely be questioned about them.

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A/N #2 – Haibane (CB) Thank you oh so very very much for the Muslim and Arabic input!


	93. Chapter 93: Altair and Naheem

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Last squeeze! Now I am away for five days. See you all Monday. Have a great weekend!

* * *

Malik blanched. The inspector miraculously missed the journal of training ideas for the little novice and other plans that Malik had in another hidden wall space under the counter. However, Malik had other things recorded in the large log book that he scrambled in his head to explain for he would surely be questioned about them.

Meanwhile, Altaïr had slept very close to Naheem to offer his own body heat when the youth shivered from the cold. The fever had broken and Altaïr next worried the teen was going into shock. He offered a rare prayer of gratitude to whatever god was there when he woke to find the boy also awake. Altaïr sat up and helped Naheem to sit. "Safety and peace, novice Naheem."

"How? How do you know my name?" Awe was clear in Naheem's voice and face. The Great Altaïr knew his name and did not just refer to him as an unnamed novice.

"Your mentor spoke well of you. You made a good kill back there despite your wounds. He was proud and asked with his dying breath that I arrange training for you with someone trusted." Altaïr stood, feeling a little uncomfortable in his nudity. Naheem was staring at all the scars, and yet was starry eyed with the praise. Maybe it was glazed from pain. That was easier for Altaïr to believe.

Altaïr rinsed at the edge of the edge of the lake. He would not coddle the youth, boy if he was going to be an assassin. He had to learn to take pain. It was how Altaïr was himself taught. The sun warmed his brutalized skin. He dressed and let the sun finish drying the clothes upon his body.

Naheem used the tree for balance to get standing, and then he hobbled painfully to the water's edge to wash as well. He nearly toppled only to be caught by Altaïr who eased him down into the sand. "Don't get dirt in your wound. Malik would be upset."

"Who's Malik?" Naheem asked ignorant of most people beyond his peers and his mentor, and obviously certain famous people like Altaïr and Master Al Mualim.

Altaïr dropped his hood in the sand shocked. "How could you not... never mind." He considered a few moments. He picked up his hood, dusted the sand from it and pulled it over his head. "Malik was an incredible assassin, one of the very best who knows the Creed better than anyone. He took injury and lost his left arm. In honour of both his assassin skills and his skills in such things as language, books, writing, drawing and even medicine, he has been made Dai of Jerusalem's Bureau."

"Woah, really? He sounds as great as you! Will I ever meet him?" His excitement was only tempered by the pain in his leg.

The scarred corner of Altaïr's lips curled up. "Malik is greater than I. The truly great ones are so quietly. The loud arrogant ones only make asses of themselves." He handed the sun dried novice uniform to the youth and helped him balance and dress. "Yes, you will meet him. We go to Jerusalem." He let the youth hobble to the horses on his own, but had to help him into the saddle. He mounted the other horse after all gear was packed and their meagre camp vanished invisibly into the terrain as if no one was ever there. "Ride beside me, I am in no mood to yell."

"Because the great ones are quiet, not loud and arrogant." Already this novice was learning.

Altaïr smiled to himself. _Yes, Malik will like this novice. He is tough, bright, willing. He listens. Malik will also be the best teacher for him. I certainly am not nor could I be if I were remotely a good teacher._

They rode in silence for a long while till Altaïr pulled them to some rocky shelter. They were about to engage forts and outposts and more guards. Altaïr checked the youth's leg wound and instructed him to do exactly as he says no matter what. "This is how a team gets through a blockade." Altaïr tied his horse's reigns to Naheem's saddle. "This is your spare horse. You walk right through. Let them stop you. They will all be dead if they cause you trouble." He showed a wing's worth of throwing knives between his fingers. "Don't try to do anything heroic. I need you as a distraction so they never see me coming."

"What if they attack? What if they yell assassin like the other ones?" He looked pleadingly at Altaïr. He didn't want to lose his second mentor so soon after losing his first. He wasn't even safe yet to properly mourn his loss.

"You will be fine. I promise. If they do attack or yell assassin, then run. Run as hard and fast as you can till you are out of sight, till you find a hay stack. I will catch up to you." Altaïr urged the youth forward.

The plan worked mostly well. They repeated this two more times before they stopped to rest. Altaïr lamented to himself how slow they traveled. Despite how Naheem tried, the first ride was hard on him. He slept poorly that night due to the pain. Altaïr inspected the bleeding wounds and knew they would never get to Malik like this. The second day was worse and they didn't make it as far as the first. Naheem cried through that second night. Altaïr held him as he wept from the pain, first trying to talk him out of crying, then trying to talk him through it. The latter worked well. It had for himself, so of course it would for the teen.

Naheem woke that morning whimpering. Altaïr was building a fire. A pile of shredded fabric from the spare grey shirt was folded neatly beside him with all their water bottles. "Take off your pants if you can. I am going to seal those wounds so you stop bleeding." The youth was unsure how that would happen, sewing? He removed his pants and cried out. Altaïr came to help and bade him lie back. He pealed the blood soaked pant leg off Naheem then the sticky bandages.

"I don't want to lose my leg!"

Altaïr's spine stiffened recalling Malik crying out and pleading not to lose his arm. He rested his hand on the boy's chest, "You are not going to lose it. But you are starting to leave a blood trail and that is a problem. Recite the Creed to me." Naheem recited as Altaïr set a blade in the fire. "And that last tenet is exactly why we need to stop the bleeding." He gave the teen a bit of leather to bite on and used one of their water bottles to rinse the blood so he could see the wounds more clearly.

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A/N #2 – love you all for reviewing! Can't wait to see some of the art you guys are working on!


	94. Chapter 94: Malik: Junayd's Lying Tears

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Back from an incredible weekend!

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Naheem recited as Altaïr set a blade in the fire. "And that last tenet is exactly why we need to stop the bleeding." He gave the teen a bit of leather to bite on and used one of their water bottles to rinse the blood so he could see the wounds more clearly.

Malik blanched. Masyaf's inspector miraculously missed the journal of training ideas for the little novice and other plans that Malik had in another hidden wall space under the counter. However, Malik had other things recorded in the large log book that he scrambled in his head to explain for he would surely be questioned about them.

The inspector flipped through the log book to the last point he had been to, over a year ago and started to transcribe in silence. He seemed to fly through the transcriptions. Malik offered a cup of water, setting it on the table and glancing at the transcriptions as he did. The inspector wrote in a kind of short-hand code. Malik dared not speak yet in case his nervousness incriminated him.

The first couple informants started to trickle in. "Safety and Peace," they greeted Malik with a curious glance followed by a very audible groan when they saw the inspector. The man gave them sharp warning looks. By the end of the day, all the informants had arrived, including the little novice. Malik wanted to slap the child and send him home.

Without deviating from his writing, save for occasionally plucking something off a meal plate, he called out a name. That informant stepped into the main room, straightening his clothing. Twenty random questions were asked of the informant to ascertain his skills, usefulness, and reliability. Some of the answers were compared to notes in both the Informants transcribed log and Malik's large log. Each informant could at least leave when he was done, hoping his review was sufficient.

The day crept uncomfortably into night. The little novice snuck into the main room during one of the informant review. He stood on his toes and whispered, hoping not to be heard by the inspector, "Rafiq... what is going on?"

Malik hissed with annoyance. But could not say anything really to the child beyond, "get back into the other room. And take off that green scarf." Junayd gave him a pleading look but found no gentleness this time. Malik watched small sagged shoulders drag rejected feet over to the carpets where he dropped down alone in the open air room. Junayd removed his green scarf glancing now and then at Malik who was trying hard to focus on a map he was decorating.

The last informant climbed out the opened lattice to make his way discreetly home. Malik brought some food over to the little novice and rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. He wanted to warn the boy, wanted to advise the boy. "Why are you hear?" he asked as quietly as he could.

Junayd whispered back, "I saw the strange flag and told Grandfadder. He told me as a novice of information, I should come too. Who is that?"

"Some man inspecting the Bureau and its activities for the Order, making sure we are doing what we should and have what we need." Malik's explanation sounded so positive. If it were happening to anyone else, Malik would feel positive about it. Right now, he only felt like a criminal waiting for his crimes to be fully discovered and his sentence to be given for them. Malik returned to his map while the boy ate.

The inspector continued to transcribe. There was a sudden pause in the scribbling. "Malik, what is this about a child novice in your log with an assassin mission? Is that the child? I thought the only child through here died."

Junayd was on his feet immediately and bouncing into the main room. Malik could not find his tongue to save himself. Junayd stood as the other informants did for his review. Malik finally answered, "This is not the same novice."

"My name is Junayd. My grandfadder, the dai before Rafiq uh... Dai Malik... is training me."

Two sets of adult eyes focused in the ten year old. Malik wanted to die. He was sure the boy might be recognized. The inspector seemed to knot know him, not by sight. "Junayd... fourth son. How did you survive?"

"I was apprenticed to a fabric merchant last year, but when," the boy lied so smoothly that even Malik believed the sad wet eyes and the drop of the head, "When my family got taken. The merchant I was with was on route from Acre. But since word came that my apprentice fee was no longer being paid, he took me here and sent me to my Grandfadder."

"What is with the green scarf, it is not part of an informant's uniform, not even a novices. Get rid of it." The inspector had hardly glanced at the boy and truly cared little about the wet eyes.

"But," pleaded Junayd, "But it was my dad's... please..." He was met by a hard cold look. Junayd stuffed the green scarf inside his shirt to hide it.

"When did you arrive, novice?"

Junayd was prepared for that answer too, although he stalled a little. "A bit over three months ago, sir." The answer put him too early to be the other assassin novice that died.

"Malik, answer my former question."

Malik narrowed his charcoal eyes and absorbed the lies provided. This was the problem with lies, one built on another. He had to keep it as close to the truth or the lie would unravel. "Junayd I felt it was suitable to test him, in case he needed to be sent to Masyaf for training."

The inspector scribbled in his notebook and recorded the mission. "It says he was successful in his mission. A neighbourhood dog is a suitable first mission assignment to test the mettle of a boy. So was he not sent then to Masyaf? If he can kill, he should be in assassin training, not informant training."

Malik was almost shocked how Junayd managed to cry on command. The lower lip quivered. Then Junayd startled to sniffle. He seemed to struggle hard not to be too loud as he cried. The inspector rolled his eyes, "I see. Well, that family did mostly only produce informants. They were never very good with the blood. He can go now."

Junayd swiped the back of his hand across his face to wipe away his tears. Malik asked him to go sleep in the back till morning. The inspector looked at them both reproachfully. "He is training to be an informant. He should be able to find his way home alone at night."

Malik glared back, "He is only ten years old. The soldiers are tougher out there and the Templars will still kill a child. He stays till morning."

"Just because your little brother was killed, Malik, does not mean you need to adopt another to replace and coddle."

Junayd's eyes widened and he cringed at the flash of steel. Malik drew his short knife mentally calculating if he could kill this inspector or not. He slammed the point down into the counter, ruining the map. "In the entire year I have been here, I have lost only two lives. My job is to assign people their tasks and keep them alive. How dare you presume and worse, suggest I am do otherwise." Malik let go of the knife and rested a gentle hand on the gate. He opened it and guided Junayd into the back. Junayd obeyed innocently trusting Malik way more than he trusted that inspector. Malik and the inspector glared daggers at each other across the counter. "I think you are more than done here Inspector. You are a grown man. YOU can find your own way home in the night. Safety and peace on your way."

Offended, insulted, but knowing Malik was still more assassin than he was himself, the Inspector packed his things and left the way he had come.

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A/N #2 – Glad folks are liking Naheem. He will be a staple in the story. And little Junayd has wriggled his way in there again...


	95. Chapter 95: Altair Teaches Blending In

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Everyone hates inspectors. It is over now. I am done torturing Malik.

* * *

Malik and the inspector glared daggers at each other across the counter. "I think you are more than done here Inspector. You are a grown man. YOU can find your own way home in the night. Safety and peace on your way out."

Elsewhere, Naheem recited the Creed as Altaïr set a blade in the fire. "And that last tenet is exactly why we need to stop the bleeding." He gave the teen a bit of leather to bite on and used one of their water bottles to rinse the blood so he could see the wounds more clearly.

Before did anything more to Naheem, he checked for swelling in the thigh between the entry point of the arrow and the exit point. There was a fair bit and he tisked with annoyance. All the riding and movement was not allowing the muscle to knit. He didn't want to have to hole up somewhere out here without resources. But if the boy did not get downtime to heal, he would be lame and that might force him out of being an assassin before he really begins. By all that is holy and unholy, Altaïr refused to be responsible for the crippling another member at his side.

Altaïr wasted no more time. "Take a deep breath Novice Naheem. This is going to hurt like the worst hell." He timed reaching for the red hot knife to Naheem breathing and pressed it to the rear entry of the arrow's wound as Naheem inhaled. He let Naheem scream as much as he wanted while biting the leather. He gave him another little while to just relax. He hated how doctors tried to surprise you by timing themselves off your readiness. "Breathe slower or you will be sick or faint," he instructed from his own experiences of doing this for himself.

Naheem whimpered and plucked the leather bit from his mouth. "Can I, please, have some water?" Altaïr helped the teen to sip some water. Three more sips and Naheem reluctantly voiced his readiness for the next searing. It was a repeat of the first, though Naheem knew what to expect this time. When it was over, he could not help crying as Altaïr washed the cauterized wounds and bandaged them. He soaked some fabric in water and wiped the youth's face too. Naheem sipped more water and let Altaïr guide him to lay on his side to ease the stress on the wounded leg.

Altaïr used some of the horse blankets to create some shelter and further shade for the day. Naheem was not fit to ride. He wandered off to hunt for some small animal to roast. The flesh of the body needed to eat flesh to help it heal. That is what Altaïr believed and understood from Malik. It was a crude understanding that Malik would have tried for an hour or five to explain. Altaïr found himself wanting to hear that confusing lecture. He returned to the little camp with a skinner rabbit and a snake. By happenstance, the rabbit was supposed to be the snake's meal, now both were ending up as his and Naheem.

While the meat roasted, Altaïr rubbed Naheem's back. They spoke minimally, Altaïr was not much of a talker, but Naheem asked questions and Altaïr answered them. What was their route? Where were they going? What was Jerusalem like? Can people die from a Leap of Faith? How were they getting past any further guards?

Altaïr's answers were short but very clear. They were taking a narrow south route to Jerusalem because, while there were many more forts, they were small with few soldiers and fewer Templars. Jerusalem was beautiful with sand and stone housing, and all the big religions sharing space together. It had high spires and many soaring eagles. Altaïr's descriptions were simple, but beautiful and Naheem smiled drowsily. "By the time one is skilled enough to climb such incredible spires as those in Jerusalem for a Leap of Faith, they are plenty skilled enough to not worry about dying from that Leap. Have you learned this yet?"

Naheem shook his head. "I thought we learned that before we became full assassins." He raised his left hand with the still healing severed finger. "I'm terrible at it already. A failure. Now I am lame and slowing you down in your important..." He was silenced by a firm slap.

"Never tear yourself apart for the failings of others. That alone will ruin your skills. You cannot be a failure at something you have not yet learned to be or do. You are injured, not lame. Besides, if Malik can still kill with one arm, I doubt you will be any less skilled once you are done healing. And yes, you slow US down, but that is MY choice." Too angry to say more Altaïr walked away. He vanished into the shadows of foliage to scout.

Naheem had to get up to save the meat from becoming charcoal. He nibbled it alone worried that he had been abandoned for his childishness. He struggled to tend to his needs of nature and tried to get comfortable again under the makeshift shelter. He dressed carefully to keep from freezing in the cooling evening.

Altaïr returned as the sun set with another blanket that he bundled around the teen. Again this night he slept curled around Naheem to help keep him warm. In the morning they had a simple breakfast of whatever Altaïr could steal from the fort ahead. On their horses, they walked through it together. Everyone was dead. Naheem realized that this is what Altaïr had done all yesterday afternoon and evening. He was clearing the path to smooth their ride and lessen the chance that Naheem would have to ride hard.

The days crawled by. Naheem was often alone while Altaïr 'scouted' ahead and cleared the way. Altaïr was often too tired to speak. Naheem watched Altaïr wash both bloody clothing and bloody body after one such 'scouting' and felt guilty, but he was firmly ordered to stay where he was till Altaïr came for him. Finally they walked their horses carefully through civilians on the road under great stone arches. As they rounded the bend, Jerusalem came into view. Altaïr pulled the horses to a stop and let Naheem simply gawk open-mouthed in awe.

"Novice Naheem, have you never seen a city?" Altaïr wondered if the novice was a private apprentice, a rare thing, but not impossible.

"Only Masyaf. This is so... big!" He continued to stare as Altaïr reached and leaned, grabbing the reigns of Naheem's horse and guiding both out of pedestrian way. He chose a very easy walk down the hill and glanced over to the youth who was trying so hard to take in every sight on every side. _And we haven't even gotten into the city,_ Altaïr chuckled to himself.

Naheem was standing better when leaning on a horse. Altaïr unpacked their gear and doubled up on the weaponry he could manage to hide on himself. Then he removed the extra master assassin uniform and pulled it over Naheem ignoring the teen's protests. "Shut up. You need to have a white hood to get into the town." Naheem kept quiet and tried to listen instead.

Altaïr wandered off for a brief maybe fifteen minutes then returned. "We leave the horses. Do you know how to blend into a moving group of monks?" When Naheem shook his head, Altaïr wanted to groan aloud and curse. How could anyone make him an initiated assassin and not teach him the bloody basics! "Watch, listen and learn." Altaïr demonstrated the pose and the slow walk. He had the youth practice, encouraging him to try not to limp, not for this, not till they are past the guards. Then Altaïr taught him the prayer that was mumbled and they practiced it together for several hours. "You will approach the group of monks over there," Altaïr pointed, "and start this blending in. They will walk with you and guide you in."

"They will let me?"

A tiny flash of an arrogant grin, "They and I have a rapport. I spoke to them and they are expecting you."

"What about you? How are you getting in?"

Altaïr pointed to the support bars through the entry. He carefully described the various ways one could get to them and how to quietly hop along them to the other side. The trick was how to get down on the other side without notice. Being here, you had no idea if there were crates to hop to, or if there was an archer waiting on the nearest ledge. He describes what to look for on the other side. "Move with the monks till you see the church then step out of their group. Be sure to thank them for their protection. Say something like... Thank you and may your god bless you on your path... or whatever. Just be nice. They are risking their lives for us. They are doing this favour for me. You will have to later earn their respect for yourself."

"Where will I meet you?"

"Don't worry about that. Find the nearest bench and sit. I will find you." Altaïr waited and watched as Naheem, uncomfortable in his former master's white hood to hide his grey hood, limped to the group of monks and clasped his hands. Naheem slowed his steps and bowed his head as taught. The other four monks stepped neatly around the teen and they slowly processioned to the gate. Altaïr lurked around corners and stalls watching to make sure Naheem passed through safely. Only once Naheen was on the other side and out of sight, did Altaïr make his own way through with masterful acrobatics.

Naheem's prayers were stumbling from his lips once he was past the guards and he had to stop with a smothered cry. An older monk guided Naheem to sit. Naheem mumbled an apology and a thank you. "Son, May God bless you on your road to healing." The monk's fatherly touch almost brought Naheem to tears but he fought them, breathed through the urge. There on the bench he sat alone, waiting, hoping Altaïr got through safe too, for Naheem had no idea how to find the Bureau here or this great Malik. The woman on the bench beside him stood and wandered away on her business. He watched her go as someone else sat beside him.

"Well done, Novice. Well done." Altaïr nodded to him but stayed sitting. Naheem clearly hurt too much to stand and walk yet.

* * *

A/N #2 – At fifteen, poor Naheem feels like a ten-year-old. He has said nothing of his former master and is trying not to feel lost. Altaïr is his saviour... I need to find a good picture of this boy. I have not even described how he looks! GAH! Damn... how do you think young Naheem should look? I kinda thought of shortish dark somewhat curly-ish hair... If anyone finds something, let me know.


	96. Chapter 96: Malik's Doctor Day

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – For those of you who thought it, and those who said it (eliina) Malik sure pwn'd the inspector. It might bite him in the ass later, but that depends on lots of other things. The inspector didn't find anything out of the ordinary except really that Malik NEEDS an assistant to reach the storage places so Malik can stop requesting stuff he actually still has. Good thing a convenient assistant is on his way, eh? Better one of choice than the spy sent by the inspector.

* * *

There on the bench Naheem sat alone, waiting, hoping Altaïr got through safe too, for Naheem had no idea how to find the Bureau here or this great Malik. The woman on the bench beside him stood and wandered away on her business. He watched her go as someone else sat beside him. "Well done, Novice. Well done." Altaïr nodded to him but stayed sitting. Naheem clearly hurt too much to stand and walk yet.

Malik fumed for hours after the inspector was gone. Junayd could only guess that Malik was going to fume for days. He had never seen someone so angry. He stayed out of Malik's way and curled up on the bed mat where he was told. In the morning he woke to Malik gently brushing his fingers through the boy's hair. "Time to take you home, little novice. You performed admirably last night. I am very grateful for your quick thinking and acting." Junayd beamed from the praise.

They walked through Jerusalem in the early morning sun all the way to the small estate where the old Dai lived. Malik brought the guide book with him. Junayd hollered a greeting to his 'Grandfadder' upon entry and they all sat for breakfast and coffee. Junayd told the old man all about the inspector. Malik remained silent to hear the boy's impressions. Only after Junayd was sent off for training with one of the other informants did Malik really question the old Dai about the protocol on inspections and the guide lines from the book.

The day turned into a new learning experience for Malik. And he thought he was done with training. The old Dai had truly thought Malik had received some training before taking on the position. When he realized Malik had been winging it this whole year, they made arrangements to meet once a week to learn and fill in the gaps of experience. Inspectors were an annual bane to all Bureaus. They had a responsibility to ensure the proper running of a Bureau, but they could certainly be a pain in the ass.

They also talked a bit about the Dai of Damascus and how Malik had broken protocol by addressing that Dai directly. This was a whole side of an organization that Malik did not understand, having really only been trained to be an assassin and a doctor. The last thing Malik brought up was his shame about missing so much in storage and how maybe he actually does need an apprentice or assistant. "You want to choose your own. If you want to have any personal privacy, really pick someone you can trust. Otherwise, they will send someone of their choosing who will not necessarily answer first to you."

Malik learned that the organization of the Assassins was actually larger and more complicated than he expected. There were the assassins and fighters. There were the informants and spies. There were the Dai and rafiqs. Then there were merchants and commoners that supported all the internal affairs. Malik had thought the Dai and rafiqs were all informants, and that informants were nothing but informants. To know that some were trained for infiltration or some were partially trained to kill was fascinating. To learn that Dai and rafiqs made up all the specialized educated people like doctors, inspectors, researchers, and even teachers also fascinated him. He left appreciating the difficult role Al Mualim had controlling all of this and making sure as many as possible lived safely and in peace. It was reasonable that some might fall through the cracks. Malik wanted to ask so much more of this Dai who though retired must have a wealth of information, having lived through no less than three Grand Masters of the Assassins. He was send off though and told to come back in a week with those questions.

Malik felt there was just not enough journals and blank books in the world for him to get all his thoughts down on paper. He practically vibrated with ideas and questions. This experience actually turned his whole mood around.

Until he arrived home.

There banging on the Bureau door was Kadar, Tibah's brother. He was a mess of tears and stress, his fist almost bloody from banging and begging at the Bureau door. Malik hurried over wondering what had happened, why he was there. "He's bleeding... so much... it's all my fault... Tibah said you ... you might be able to help... Please... please... I don't want him to die..."

Malik could get nothing more coherent out of the young man. The urgency though spurred him to agree to return to the merchant's estate to see what he could do. He managed to learn that getting a doctor was out of the question, this was too sensitive. With their father away with the elder brothers, and the elder sisters married and away save for one who really was not good with the idea of blood, Tibah and her elder brother Kadar were mostly running merchant stall on the market square and handing the household. Their mother had recently given birth with great difficulty and was kept away from any and all stress with a midwife till she was well enough to be more than just a mom to the new baby. Malik had really thought the situation was with their mother and was running in his head all the possible complications and experimental procedures he could do to save her life.

What he was confronted with was not what he had expected. He was ushered into a back room that had many basins and bandages and looked like a bloodbath. On a blood soaked bed mat was a young man little older than the guard Kadar with Tibah struggling to keep him from bleeding out. Tibah looked up teary, "They stoned him. They caught Kadar and him in the alley and identified Abby. The stoned him this morning. I can't stop the bleeding!"

That answered everything. So, Kadar was caught with his lover in an alley. Kadar must have slipped away without anyone being able to identify his face, but the lover must have lingered long enough to be caught. Boys in love... and human laws against the rare incident of same gendered lovers. The price was excommunication from whatever religion you were in being the lightest punishment to being made a eunuch to being stoned to death. No family would accept you as their son, not matter how prominent, especially if they were prominent. Malik could barely make out the boy's face with the bruising and blood, but managed to know he was the top accountant's son, whose father served the highest of city officials. The father would have turned in his own son for this, and likely did. Malik pursed his lips while running these new calculations lightening speed through his mind.

He turned to Kadar, "we need fresh water and fresh bandages and several clean blankets and three clean bed mats. A tub of hot water for a bath as well. Kadar!" The young man jumped from his numbness. Malik felt strange using his brother's name for someone else. He prayed that maybe his Kadar could give courage to this Kadar. "NOW!" The guard hesitated only a moment not wanting to leave his lover then bolted to get what Malik deemed might save the other's life.

Short sharp orders were given to Tibah who obeyed them swiftly as this Abby was stripped washed, stitched, moved, stitched more. Hours and hours passed with internal and external stitching. Malik really was not sure if the young man would live. He had to resort to crudely searing some wounds shut to prevent further blood loss. Tibah washed everything in the room in waves. Kadar got shouted out of the room every moment he was in there loitering worriedly.

Malik stepped out and used a rag to wipe his own face. He turned a sharp eye on Kadar, "What on Allah's name were you doing? What were you thinking? A public place, Kadar." The young man hung his shamed head and mumbled that all they had done was hold hands and exchange one kiss, just one. "Outside the walls of your home, there is no such thing as privacy. There are guards and archers on rooftops. There are spies in dark alley corners. There are people who can see out their windows... or even into your own. I will not condemn you for your choice of lover. I condemn you for your stupidity that nearly got him killed."

The young man choked on his sobs and covered his eyes with a hand. Malik calmed himself realizing how he just tore apart the young man already a mess from what happened. He rests his hand on Kadar's shoulder, "He's alive, just. He will need lots of care. I told Tibah what to do. You help her. Help him. He will not be able to leave here for a long while, a month or more. Take good care of him, he has no one now but you."

Kadar nodded and mumbled a thank you.

Malik made his own way home hoping the young man lived through the night. He would have stayed but he dared not. It would be hard to explain why he was out at someone's home who was not a member of the Brotherhood. Having gone at all was a risk to the whole family. But if he had not, that young accountant would surely have died and young Kadar would be living with that guilt forever... like he and Altaïr were living with the guilt of Malik's little brother's death forever.

He opened the door to the Bureau and locked it behind him once inside. He stood very still surveying the main room. Something was different. Something out of place. He narrowed his eyes. The incense pot was tipped. There was a small smear of blood on the gate. A young whimpering voice called out weakly from Malik's back room, "Master... Master Altaïr..."

Malik was met by the prone form of a fifteen year old novice with dark curling hair and large brown eyes. Blood and other oozing fluid soaked the teen's thigh.

* * *

A/N #2 – I can imagine a thousand questions in Malik's mind right now. Can you?

A/N #3 – This chapter is courtesy of the bus ride (one hour) to the Montreal Downtown movie theatre and my sitting on the floor outside the theatre waiting for my friends (three hours) to see the opening show of The Last Airbender.


	97. Chapter 97: Altair: Struggle with Naheem

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Just a note that I really appreciate your reviews! They are inspiring and helpful and encourage me to keep going. Sometimes I worry that the depth I am adding to the Order of the Assassins is too much for readers to grasp or that I am being too anal with my details. Glad you think I am doing ok with it all. I am trying to keep to canon, even as I deviate from the original story and bring in new characters.

* * *

A young whimpering voice called out weakly from Malik's back room, "Master... Master Altaïr..." Malik was met by the prone form of a fifteen year old novice with dark curling hair and large brown eyes. Blood and other oozing fluid soaked the teen's thigh.

How did he get there? What happened to him? Why is Altaïr not there? These are but some of the questions that went through Malik's mind.

From the bench to the Bureau was a much longer walk that Altaïr had thought it would be. Naheem was slow and limped badly. It was then that Altaïr realized that perhaps Naheem was not healing as well as he had hoped. Making the boy struggle to walk normal to blend in with the monk in order to get into Jerusalem was the only way to get him in and was better than the other routes (which Naheem would never have managed); however, it did more damage to the muscles in the thigh than expected. When Naheem leaned against a wall in a darkened alley, Altaïr touched the wound to feel how it was. Damp and swollen was not a good sign, worse that it was hot through Naheem's pants. He had to get the teen to Malik soon.

He let Naheem rest on some stairs while he climbed to a roof to plot their course and try to find a way for Naheem to get to the Bureau's roof without jumping buildings. There would have to be at least one jump. One would be better than four or five though. He heard a yell and mad babbling and an outcry. He ran back across the roofs to the already familiar sound of Naheem's voice. The maddened shambling man had attacked the teen, shoving him into a wall and over crates, then down the stairs. Altaïr dropped from the roof with a hard landing that made him wince, grabbed the crazy person and pulled him into the nook between two buildings. A moment later he walked out calmly and knelt by Naheem.

Naheem was white and sweating, a few new bruises from the tumble down the stair would turn purple by the next day for sure. What worried Altaïr was how Naheem clasped at his let. The impacts tore open the fragile healing wounds. There were still a few blocks away from the Bureau. Blood had started to soak through the dark pant leg.

"Look at me Novice Naheem." Altaïr lifted the teens chin and waited till eyes came back to focus. "You need to get up. We are not far. I'll help you." It felt so strange to protect and save a life rather than end one. The more he was doing this along this trip the more fiercely he clung to that responsibility. This was an innocent life literally in his hands. It would survive or not depending on his actions. He pulled Naheem to his feet and helped him through the streets till they reached the ladder a couple buildings away from the Bureau.

Naheem leaned against the wall whimpering and trying so hard to be brave. It just hurt and burned so much. He begged to rest, but Altaïr would not let him. He climbed the ladder painfully slowly with Altaïr right behind him to make sure he did not fall. Blood smeared the ladder every few steps. Altaïr muttered a quiet curse and tried to scrub it with his tunic as he passed. On the roof the Bureau could be seen. There was a small jump to the building beside the Bureau then a set of wood planks to walk across.

Naheem panicked at the jump. He could not do it. He dropped to his knees almost in tears. Altaïr hauled him up pointing to the blood mark he was leaving every time to leaned on something. With Altaïr gripping his arm hard, they jumped it together. Both landed badly on the other roof. Altaïr took a deep breath and banished the throbbing feeling in his knee. He sat with Naheem on that roof for a little while, giving the teen a chance to breathe, walking him through some breathing techniques to help him endure the pain. Altaïr made mental note that he would have to come back and remove the blood trail.

Naheem managed the wood planks between the buildings fairly well, but dropped on the other side. "We are here Naheem. We are here. You made it." He helped the boy limp to the opening in the lattice. "Roll over the side and hang as low as you can before you drop. I'll catch you." So many blood smears were going to need to be cleaned. Altaïr hopped down and wobbled a moment. He had this mild urge to yell at his knee to obey, but didn't. He stood and watched as Naheem followed the guiding words inch by inch. He hung low till his fingers gave up without warning. Altaïr caught him, but he still landed somewhat hard and cried out loudly before fainting.

Altaïr held him tight to keep him from falling. He adjusted his stance and lifted the teen in his arms, then carried him into the main Bureau room, "Malik? Malik? Safety and peace brother… are you here? MALIK!" When there was still no reply, Altaïr let loose a string of colourful curses in the first three languages that came to mind. He bumped into the gate to open it and winced as he knew the teens wounded leg brushed it hard. He walked through the curtain into the back and laid Naheem on Malik's bed mat.

Naheem was barely conscious and whimpering more. "Shhh… It will be alright. I promise. Malik will be back soon, he is never gone long. We are here Naheem, no more walking or moving. Just rest. I have to clean the blood trail we left. I'll be back." Altaïr cupped the teens dust smudged cheek and pushed the matting sweaty curls out of the way. _Is this what Malik would do? Would he look after Kadar like this? Am I doing the right thing?_ "I'll be back." Naheem felt too hot. Altaïr wondered when the fever had actually started. Why had he not noticed it sooner? When did he last check? Two days ago? He felt horrible and neglectful.

He pulled away and grabbed some rags and a pouch of sand to scrub away the blood trail. Naheem would not be going anywhere. Malik surely would be here soon. He had to protect them both. He climbed back to the roof and retraced their path meticulously cleaning anything that looked like a blood smear. He took a different route back to the Bureau. The sun was almost settling. Malik HAD to be back by now. Malik wouldn't be out at night, would he?

Altaïr dropped into the open air room less gracefully than he wanted to. A curse jumped through his teeth. Malik turned from his staring in the back room at the new wounded to Altaïr's who limped two steps before adjusting and ignoring the aching knee. "Altaïr," Malik was about to snap something but the boys scared whine silenced that. He can yell at Altaïr later. "Get me three basins filled with water, Altaïr. And start water to boil for a bath. Then, get out and wash yourself. You are filthy and I can't afford you worsening this situation."

Altaïr knew that look and that tone. He shied from it. It was flat accusation that he did something wrong.

* * *

A/N #2 – Here is a suitable pic of Naheem with his curls trimmed out mostly. Dark eyes and adorable smile still intact though... what do you all think?

http:/ fhrankee .deviantart .com/art/Reckless-Soul-146406290


	98. Chapter 98: Malik and Leg Surgery

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Altaïr can teach things other than being an assassin, as Malik will discover.

* * *

Altaïr dropped into the open air room less gracefully than he wanted to. A curse jumped through his teeth. Malik turned from his staring in the back room at the new wounded to Altaïr's who limped two steps before adjusting and ignoring the aching knee. "Altaïr," Malik was about to snap something but the boys scared whine silenced that. He can yell at Altaïr later. "Get me three basins filled with water, Altaïr. And start water to boil for a bath. Then, get out and wash yourself. You are filthy and I can't afford you worsening this situation."

Altaïr knew that look and that tone. He shied from it. It was flat accusation that he did something wrong.

Malik removed his black robes yet again today and tossed it aside. His shirt and pants had been hidden by it and they were marked in many places from the surgeries earlier today. He pulled it off and lit oil lamps for light. The first basin of cold water that Altaïr brought he used to scrub himself clean and he told Altaïr to take it away. Altaïr took it to the open air room where he himself would wash up later. He was not going to waste the precious water.

Malik stripped himself and then donned just clean pants. He would have done that when trying to heal Abdel (Abby), young guard Kadar's lover, but Tibah was there. Kneeling by the teen, Malik pressed his hand to the fevered brow. "What is your name Novice?"

Large brown eyes watered from how much he hurt. He managed to mumble, "Naheem… Are you the great Master Malik?"

Malik's eyebrows flew up and he shot a look to Altaïr who was well hidden under his hood as he placed the third basin of water nearby and slunk away to the kitchen to boil water. "I am not sure what you have heard, Novice Naheem. Though, I am indeed Malik. I am Dai of this Bureau and know enough of healing I think to see you through your injuries properly." He helped the boy strip down. Naheem was shy and uncomfortable about being naked but knew there was little choice really.

Before removing the teen's pants, Malik had Naheem turn and sit off the bed mat and over some towels on the floor. There he soaked the bloody pants well before attempting to remove them. It was a slow process to remove the pants without worsening the wounds. Altaïr filled the bath nervously with pot after pot of boiling water. When Naheem yelped at an attempt to remove the bandages, Altaïr abandoned the bath, ignored anything Malik might say and took the boy's hands. "Deep breaths, Novice Naheem. Like I showed you. Close your eyes and focus on your breath."

Malik had to pause. Altaïr had the teen's full attention and was gentler than he ever expected from him. It reminded him so much of how Altaïr sometimes snuck off to watch over the much younger novices. Malik gave Altaïr a nod and appreciative smile as he soaked the bandages more and carefully peeled them off. Only once the bandages were off did Altaïr finish filling the bath and then escaped to the fountain in the open air room with the other basin to wash. Malik hoped Altaïr would come back and help, especially since Naheem trusted Altaïr enough to be calm through this.

It was going to be a day of moving from wounded to wounded to wounded. Malik knew just by how Altaïr moved that the eagle was wounded too. It was in that moment that Malik firmly decided he never wants to be a doctor. How they managed to keep going patient after patient without breaking down emotionally for each one of them, Malik could not fathom.

Altaïr returned clean and also just in pants. When asked to lift the boy into the hot bath, Malik was sure Altaïr would bolt. There was a great deal of hesitation. In the end, Altaïr did it because it had to be done. Amazing how less afraid of water he could be if it did not actually involve him. _Maybe when all the whatever is going on with this war is finished with, if we ever get some peace, I will teach him to swim. Both of them, but mostly Altaïr._ Malik refocused on the now soaking teen who clung desperately to Altaïr, not because he thought he would drown, but because he got a look at his thigh and became hysterical. Altaïr held him firmly locked in his arms so Malik can work. Clipping the knotted matted parts of Naheem's hair was on the list too.

Well cleaned and again on towels on the floor, Naheem alternated between panting and crying. Altaïr sat behind him so he could hold him and brace him. Naheem leaned back into Altaïr shaking. Malik met Altaïr's questioning golden eyes. "I am going to open the wound, clean it and stitch it closed so it can heal. Naheem, you will need to stay off it for a long while. Altaïr and I will find you crutches. But right now, you need to hold still, very still, so I can get a good look at it and decide what is the best medicine to give you."

At the little touches and inspections that Malik did, he earned yowls of pain. He had to stop. He debated drugging the boy, but if he needed to administer ani-infectional or anti-inflammatory medicines, they would react badly with the sedations.

Malik watched as Altaïr eased out from behind Naheem and laid the boy down on his back. There was a desire to salve and stitch the wounds he now saw on Altaïr's bare back as Altaïr sat beside Naheem, back to Malik, blocking the boy's view to his terribly infected thigh wounds. Malik wondered what Altaïr was going to do. He wanted to protest when Altaïr asked him to not touch Naheem for a moment. He sat back and waited, annoyed.

Malik leaned so he could see what Altaïr was doing. Altaïr took the teen's right hand in his left and instructed the boy to hold his forearm with his left arm. "Now take a deep breath. Good. You stay looking at my eyes and holding my arm. Deep breath. Again. Slower. Good." They just breathed in time with each other for several minutes. "Now listen. Pull up from your feet all tension, pull the tension up into your shoulders, arms and hands. Let your feet relax. Deep breath. Let go of the awareness of your feet. Deep breath. Good. Relax now from your feet to your knees. Deep breath. Let it go…. Good. Now from your knees to your hips. Relax the muscles. Let go of the tension in them. Pull it up to your shoulders and down your arms. Deep breath. Again. Deep breath."

Naheem's hand gripped Altaïr's hand and forearm tighter and Altaïr nodded. Malik stared amazed at this technique. Is this what Al Mualim had taught Altaïr, how to handle pain? This was incredible. The boy's leg was actually relaxing. Dark eyes were locked on the golden ones, almost hypnotized. Altaïr kept a slow low and steady tone. "Good novice. Breathe again. I am going to touch you. I will place my hand on your right hip. When I do, you will not be able to move that leg. If you feel pain, you pull it up and let the tension fill your hands as you forget the pain in your leg. Breathe. Deeply again, breathe."

Malik saw Altaïr reach back and rest a gentle hand on the boy's bare right hip. The last of the tension in the leg melted instantly. Altaïr and Naheem still breathed in time with each other. It seemed like sorcery. Malik had many questions. Then he heard Altaïr's low voice softly say his name, "Malik, now… do what you must."

It was a cue to work and work fast. He had no idea how long this state would last or how long Altaïr could hold the boy like this. A quick glance told him that Altaïr was going to have deep bruises where the boy gripped him. He wondered where Altaïr was shoving that pain. Malik leaned over the wounded thigh and inspected it thoroughly. There was not even a twitch in any muscles as he touched, then pressed. He concluded he would have to open the wound entirely; the infection was through the entry right to the exit wound. Altaïr had sealed infection it. It was the right thing to do, if the boy was going to remain prone for several days, but clearly they did not.

Malik wondered if maybe he could do the whole surgery like this and thus be able to give Naheem a stronger healing med against infection after without needing the sedation during the surgery. He took a tiny knife from his medical kit and made a tentative cut in the already oozing wound. Again no twitch. Though it oozed puss and Malik proceeded to push out the infection. Now and then he heard Altaïr repeat the word **breathe** and the boy would take a deep breath and relax again.

Malik took a different position with his stump touching Altaïr's back as a warning he was going to do something else to the boy now. He felt tension roll along Altaïr's back muscles and saw him nod in silent acknowledgment. So began the actual surgery of deeply cutting into the teen's leg from wound to wound to open the flesh. Malik found a couple small invading splinters and cleaned. Naheem's breathing shifted to fast panting and Altaïr tried to guide him to the deeper breathing. Naheem screamed in pain but miraculously did not so much as have a flicker of movement in the leg. Moments after the scream, the boy was quiet with slower even breaths.

"He passed out, Malik." Altaïr's words only confirmed what Malik had expected. Malik continued to clean the wound, slicing the rotted flesh away and washing the blood. Then he poured a medicinal solution over the opened flesh before he began stitching. He was glad he had placed towels over the teen's genitals, for as expected he had wet himself in the terror of what happened. He finished cleaning the boy up and bandaging the leg.

He came around to check Naheem's breathing. It was steady and his fever was starting to drop. He took advantage and trimmed the boy's hair and washed the sweat from him. "I'm going to unroll the spare bed mat. It is thinker anyways and better for him, I think. Will you put him in it?" Altaïr nodded as he gathered the teen into his arms and carefully lifted him over to the other bed mat as Malik set it up.

Malik placed a hand over Altaïr's badly bruised forearm. "He's going to be fine. Maybe limp forever, but he'll live and can still train… once he is healed and not before. Altaïr, you did the right thing. Whatever happened, whoever he is, you did the right thing." Malik was stunned at how shocked Altaïr looked as those golden eyes, so hungry for approval, met his own charcoal ones. "Now, your turn. Don't think I did not notice you were hurt." Malik derived some little joy out of catching Altaïr off guard, especially since Altaïr was not wearing the hood to hide within.

* * *

A/N #2 – Haibane raised a note that the Quran does not mention anything against homosexuality. Neither did any of the sacred books of Judaism or Christianity in the 12th century. They were indeed cultural stigmas and the laws of men as Malik griped. The books promote heterosexual relations for "going forth and multiplying" but they do not condemn other forms of love.


	99. Chapter 99: Altair Asks for Help

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Oh it is glad to be back in the swing of writing again.

* * *

Malik placed a hand over Altaïr's badly bruised forearm. "He's going to be fine. Maybe limp forever, but he'll live and can still train… once he is healed and not before. Altaïr, you did the right thing. Whatever happened, whoever he is, you did the right thing." Malik was stunned at how shocked Altaïr looked as those golden eyes, so hungry for approval, met his own charcoal ones. "Now, your turn. Don't think I did not notice you were hurt." Malik derived some little joy out of catching Altaïr off guard, especially since Altaïr was not wearing the hood to hide within.

"I'll be in the other room," Altaïr stepped back feeling more drained than he ever expected. If he could have absorbed Naheem's pain into himself, he would have. He walked out to eh main room and wavered. Maybe it was the lack of sleep over the many days bringing Naheem there. The boy's screams of agony still echoed in his mind and started to blur with imaginary screams of what Malik must have dealt with when Kadar died. The echoes in his mind blurred with the screams of some victims he fought or assassinated. He closed his eyes trying to shut it all out. They blurred with his own early screams, the silent ones he never let out. The room became a sauna as the sweat dampened his back, and then chilly night wind sucked all the heat away along with the air.

He opened his eyes to find himself staring at the ceiling of the main room with Malik leaning over him, deep furrows of concern in his brow. Malik was dabbing at something on Altaïr's temple, coming away with a bit of blood as he did. "I should tell you to breathe, deep. You fainted, Altaïr." Altaïr understood the words but they still did not make sense. "You were caught in the temple by the edge of the counter as you went through the gate. Easy! Slow… sit up slow."

Altaïr sat up. He held the bandage to his own temple so Malik could do other things, like bring Altaïr a cup of water to sip slowly. We total realization that he had indeed fainted came the humiliation that he had indeed fainted. The great Altaïr fainted like a girl for no reason. He lurched to his feet and staggered into the open air room to flop on the soft pillows and carpets. He grabbed his shirt and hood with his free hand to get dressed.

"Oh no… no you don't. Stay as you are till I am done with you. I refuse to have to worry about TWO of you all night." Malik sat on the carpet near Altaïr and snatched the shirt and hood away; dropping the wooden jar he had been carrying. He shoved a cup of water then into Altaïr's hand. "Drink. It's just water."

Altaïr was too exhausted to argue and protest even in his own silent way and clearly Malik was as well. Altaïr discarded the blood dotted cloth since his temple stopped bleeding. Malik then fussed over each of Altaïr's wounds, checking them salving them, but not bothering to bandage them. Altaïr just wanted to roll over and sleep. Malik was not going to let him. Malik got up to get a bottle and some other bandages. Altaïr immediate flopped back and rolled over, back to Malik.

"I don't want you sleeping yet, Altaïr. You hit your head and I want to make sure you will be fine."

"I'll be fine…. I'll stay awake. I just want to lie down." Truth was that he was feeling a bit woozy and did not want to fall over while sitting. That would be even more humiliating.

Malik rubbed salve into the cashes in Altaïr's back. "So tell me who he is. Where did you find him and why is he with you?"

"Naheem?" It was a redundant question. Of course Naheem. Altaïr pictured Malik rolling his eyes, which Malik did behind Altaïr's back. "I was on my way here from Damascus. They were on the way. Naheem and his mentor. Even though he's had the rite, Naheem is just a novice. They were overwhelmed by crusaders, archers and templars. I stepped in to help, but the mentor was killed anyways." Altaïr quieted for a long while remembering the fight in his mind and the fog. "The fog came again, Malik. I had to end the mentor. His wounds were too great. He asked me not to bring Naheem to Masyaf. That something wrong is going on. But he died before he could tell me what. I promised to bring Naheem somewhere safe, to someone trustworthy to train him."

"Altaïr! I cannot train him! I am a Dai, not an assassin anymore."

"You can still teach him stuff. Better than I can." Altaïr rolled over to face Malik. They glared almost angrily at each other.

"You are asking me to be a traitor for a novice… twice now."

Altaïr tilted his head confused till he recalled the other little novice. "No," Altaïr's spoke in hushed apologetic tones, "no… I am asking you to protect lives… till I can figure out who is the real traitor. I am asking you to… to… help me. Help me do what I need to do. Help me make things right. Help me, Malik."

Malik dropped his eyes from Altaïr's and rested his hand on Altaïr's right knee. It radiated heat and Altaïr flinched unexpectedly. Malik withdrew his hand. "You owe me…"

It was Altaïr's turn to drop his eyes and simply nod, knowing there is no way he could ever repay Malik, ever really make things right between them. He wanted Malik to walk away so he could just curl up tightly and hate himself alone.

"And you'll make good on this debt with Naheem by teaching him when you are here. So you had better be here as often as you can and for as long as you can manage."

Altaïr looked up into Malik's eyes. There was no anger there. There was duty… and determination.

* * *

A/N #2 – step by step they get a little closer...


	100. Chapter 100: Malik's Opportunity

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Altaïr has yet to really come to terms with the things that have happened to him. Burying them does not make them go away. Naheem provides an interesting solution to several problems that have cropped up.

* * *

"And you'll make good on this debt with Naheem by teaching him when you are here. So you had better be here as often as you can and for as long as you can manage."

Altaïr looked up into Malik's eyes. There was no anger there. There was duty… and determination.

Malik felt warm inside to know that Altaïr considered him great as the teen had called him, trustworthy too, and the best person to train someone as an assassin… even if Malik was crippled. It encouraged his ego and he felt less like a cripple and more like someone with a mission. Altaïr was trusting him to help, not just train this boy but help find the traitor and help keep him sane through his missions. That last bit is what worried Malik most. Altaïr was so unstable. Ferocious and feral like a wild wounded eagle ready to rend the flesh of anything or anyone nearby and then timid and skittish and fragile. He knew Altaïr would one day snap and hit rock bottom emotionally. Malik just prayed Altaïr didn't start to dig from there, or worse, hit that bottom somewhere far from Malik.

Malik wanted to reach out and touch Altaïr's face and shoulder to reassure him. He could see dark circles under the assassin's eyes. Altaïr must have been worrying father-like over this teen the entire way here. "What you did back there with Naheem… That was amazing. And don't stress about the surgery. I meant what I said, Altaïr. You did the right thing with him. Circumstances were just foul." He hoped that was reassuring. "Now, pull the pant legs up. I know your knee is hurting. Let me see."

Malik was grateful that Altaïr was being so cooperative. It was rare. Rolled up each pant leg to expose both knees for Malik. His right was indeed swollen. Malik placed his hand over it again and watched as Altaïr tensed from head to toe. He stayed still there watching Altaïr shift his breathing pattern as he had taught Naheem. When Altaïr reopened his eyes, all expression was gone. "Altaïr, where do you shunt it, the pain."

Altaïr's brows came together as if the question were in a language he did not know at first. "I don't shunt it anywhere. I just… stop it. Stop feeling. It is easier to be a rock and feel nothing, to shove it all away into a bottle inside me and cork it."

Those were some of the saddest words he had ever heard from someone. Malik looked away from Altaïr and prepared two small folded cloths. He poured a dark liquid that smelled strongly of vanilla from the bottle over each. "Hold these one over and one under your knee. I'll bandage them in place." Altaïr did as he was told not that he understood what would happen, but Malik seemed to want to use baking ingredients on him. He was too tired to care. Once Malik was done bandaging, Altaïr laid back and relaxed.

Malik stayed there quiet, waiting. He knew Altaïr would relax enough soon and feel again. He wanted to be here for the reaction. He counted quietly in his head and got to about 95 when v sat bolt up staring at the bandaged right knee. His eyes looked like they would fall out of his head. "What sorcery is THIS!" Malik smirked at both the reaction and the demanding question.

"Vanilla extract," He put a hand on Altaïr's shoulder to keep him down and relaxing. "An expensive medicine but effective at reducing swelling in a joint. It seeps in and confuses the joint making the bones think they have been soaked in ice." Yes, Altaïr's expression was everything Malik had hoped for and more. "It is as much sorcery as your breathing technique with Naheem. Now relax and let it to its job."

Reluctantly Altaïr sank back down among the pillows watching Malik warily. Malik collected the remaining items and returned them to his supplies. By the time he checked on the boy and then came back to remove the bandages from Altaïr, the assassin was very asleep and shivering a little in the chill night air without enough covering. Malik draped a blanket over him after removing the bandages. Altaïr woke a little but was easily soothed back to sleep. That alone showed Malik how much trust he had managed to earn from Altaïr. It meant a lot to him.

Naheem was now his focus for the rest of the night. He looked too sweet of a boy to be an assassin. Malik raised the boy's left hand and inspected the severed finger. He dabbed a bit of healing salve on it to help it finish healing. Fifteen was young to be made a full assassin and given the rite. Altaïr had been the youngest that Malik knew and he was almost seventeen. It took time to learn everything. Malik wondered what this novice knew and what he was actually missing for Altaïr to think he need lots of training still.

Naheem scrunched his face and squirmed whining in his sleep as the pain started to rouse him. Malik stroked his hair and soothed him, but pain was pain and Malik didn't really know this breathing trick that Altaïr did. Naheem opened eyes that were as dark brown as his hair and shone like the Turkish coffee. "Welcome back to the waking world Naheem. Try not to move too much. I have not given you anything for the pain yet as I wanted the medicines I did give you to focus on healing the infection."

"Did… did you cut it off?" Naheem's eyes became watery.

Malik knew this terror much too well. "No, you are very lucky for the care Altaïr had given you. You still have your leg. If you had to travel farther, like to Masyaf, I could not promise they would think the same." Fact was that Malik was sure they would just sever it for simplicity. Malik though was willing to be experimental and try his very best to save rather than sever.

Malik helped Naheem sip some water and nibble some bread soaked in left over stew. It was necessary for Naheem to have something in his stomach before further medicines. Malik then gave him a sedative and rubbed a pain killing salve gently into the leg. He rebandaged it after letting Naheem have a good look and explaining the procedure he had done to save his leg. "It will have a terrible scar. Something to show off and to tell a romantic liaison of your heroics."

Naheem ran his fingers through his hair as his head felt odd. Malik clarified, "I trimmed it. Some of the curls were too knotted to comb out. It's all even. You are still cute for the girls." That earned a shy smile that caused one cheek to dimple a little. They would have spoken more but Naheem was already starting to nod off from the drugs. Malik waited till Naheem was completely asleep before he took to his own bed.

Malik still wondered what Altaïr has said that labeled him the Great Master Malik. Did Altaïr really think that highly of him? Malik had no idea where he would start with training this teen. It all depended on where he was already at in his training. An idea started to form when he realized the convenience of this situation and offered an immediate prayer of thanks. Here was an opportunity. He could claim the teen is crippled, which for the moment he was, and thus state that he will accept this burden of training him within the Bureau. That will give him an assistant that the inspector could not argue about and it would keep the boy from being assigned elsewhere or from being a true crippled burden on someone else. Malik had to admit at least to himself that he needed help here, but this allowed him to accept that help without asking for it.

Malik slept rather well with his decisions till early morning.

* * *

A/N #2 – yup… I like this picture for Naheem. If you missed it a couple chapters ago, here it is again:

http:/ fhrankee .deviantart .com/art/Reckless-Soul-146406290


	101. Chapter 101: Altair Squicked

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – The heat is bad. I feel blah. I wanted to write something funny.

* * *

Malik slept rather well with his decisions till early morning. He had honestly expected to be woken by the moaning of Naheem. What woke him was altogether a different noise.

Grunts and growls and scraping filled the main room. Altaïr hacked and shaved at a long piece of wood. He passed as Malik came into the room scowling. "Sorry. You said Naheem needed crutches."

"Altaïr! It is barely DAWN! He won't be walking even with crutches for a few days. Go the hell back to sleep." Malik turned and grumpily returned to his bed.

Altaïr frowned. He thought he was doing the right thing. He set aside the wood and cleaned up all the shavings. His own knee still ached but now as badly as yesterday. Staring now at the wood he could see that there was no way he was going to fashion crutches out of them. He really didn't know how. Building timber was perhaps not the right wood. He slunk back into the open air room and sat there a while till he was bored.

At the slightest sound from the back room, Altaïr slipped in to sit next to Naheem. The teen's face was scrunched in pain. Altaïr shook Malik awake, "He's hurting. Make it stop." That got Malik up and not in a grumpy way.

Altaïr watched Malik check the wound and change the bandages, rubbing a salve into the wound after washing it, then re-bandaging it. Altaïr felt useless, helpless. He could not do the wonderful things Malik did. Malik saved lives. Altaïr only took them.

A pat on his shoulder made Altaïr look up at Malik's face. In less annoyed tones, actually, in fairly gentle tones, Malik told Altaïr, "I'm going to make some breakfast. Why don't you stay with him here while I do that? Your journal, if you want it, is here." Malik had taken it from hiding when he was first woken; figuring Altaïr was up and needed to express himself somehow.

Altaïr stared at the soft journal whose pale leather was beautifully tattooed by Malik's own hand. He touched the surface before taking it into his lap and scanning through it. "It's all nonsense. I don't know why I am bothering," Altaïr complained.

From the kitchen, Malik replied, "It is not nonsense. Not to me. And you need to practice writing. You promised. Besides, writing things out will help you sort them."

Altaïr looked over at the resting teen and then at the open journal. He continued to stare at the empty page while Malik nudged him over and started to spoon feed some cruel into Naheem. Malik returned to the kitchen and prepared a beverage as Naheem was truly waking. Altaïr saw Malik drop some drug into the beverage and then help Naheem to drink it. As the drowsiness returned and drew the teen back into deep slumber, Altaïr knew Malik had drugged the boy.

"Why did you do that? Drug him?"

Malik considered the question and how to answer it. "Well, he is in much pain and while he is awake and aware, he moved and that could tear the stitches at the moment. I gave him a mild painkiller and sedative. Later, He'll have to endure some pain while I use a different salve on the wound to help it heal. Maybe you could use that breathing exercise on him again when I do?" Knowing he could actually be useful help Altaïr feel much better. He nodded looking a bit more encouraged. Naheem murmured and frowned in his sleep hearing them talk. Malik suggested, "Why don't you go to the carpets? I'll bring breakfast there and then we can talk while he sleeps."

Altaïr took up the journal and gave a concerned look to Naheem before he headed out to the warm air under the open lattice. He felt alone having not slept with Naheem. That was his first words in his journal. This soon flowed into his thoughts about training and then his wish that he had a child of his own. He snapped the book closed there. Good timing, Malik entered with some breakfast. Altaïr glared accusingly at the bananas on the plate. Malik's darker skinned hand reached over and plucked them off. Malik ate them and Altaïr was content that he need not eat them.

Malik had set down some other items, a towel, a small basin of water, his own breakfast, a comb and the scissors. Altaïr looked down at them then up at Malik, his hood barely hiding his confused questioning.

"Several of the people coming through the city of late have brought some unwelcome guests. Junayd had them and was shaved and treated. I trimmed Naheem's hair for the same reason and since you seem like you need a trim too, I figured I would check and make sure you didn't come with lice either."

Altaïr's expression was very visibly squicked as he cringed. "Lice?"

Malik nodded, "Yes, you know… the little bugs that get into…"

Altaïr leapt to his feet scattering breakfast and journal frantically brushing imaginary bugs from him as he danced off the potentially infested carpets.

"By Allah, Altaïr. Sit your ass down! Stop panicking. ALTAÏR!" Malik commanded him to sit. And when Altaïr reluctantly did so, he snatched off the hood. Altaïr sat frozen trying not to twitch and flinch at anything that might feel like a small crawling lice or flea on him. "By Allah, you fear nothing. Not giant spiders, or scorpions or poisonous snakes. Not templars now the invisible diseased of Acre. But tiny lice and fleas… and you bounce around like a girl surprised by a mouse in the house." Malik checked through Altaïr**'s** hair and trimmed it neatly as he did. Malik smirked, "It would be funny of I said they could get into your pants and…"

Altaïr leapt up again and checked! Malik rolled his eyes. Altaïr glared angrily back at him. "Sit down Altaïr."

"No!" Altaïr grabbed his hood back and escaped through the roof opening, humiliated.

Altaïr heard Malik huff a big sigh then yell up to Altaïr, "There is a merchant in the poor district who makes and sells crutches. Get a pair from him."

Altaïr tugged his hood back on and realized he left most of his weapons inside. He was not in the mood to go back in to get them. He had his knife and wrist blade. He can pick pocket throwing knives. He managed before without the large knife at his back and without a sword. He could manage again.

He headed to the poor district of Jerusalem in search of that merchant. It took him most of the day to get there and find him. He gruffly explained that his friend's nephew was injured and needed crutches. After some explaining of height and weight of Naheem, the merchant named his price and told Altaïr to return in two days for them. Altaïr offered a few coins to secure the purchase and returned to the Bureau. He would have slept outside because he was pissed off at Malik for spooking him, but he wanted to make sure Naheem was doing fine.


	102. Chapter 102: Malik's Novices

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – little novice meets big novice… children bring out the very best in Altaïr.

* * *

After some explaining of Naheem's height and weight, the merchant named his price and told Altaïr to return in two days for the crutches. Altaïr offered a few coins to secure the purchase and returned to the Bureau. He would have slept outside because he was pissed off at Malik for spooking him, but he wanted to make sure Naheem was doing fine.

Malik waited for Altaïr to return. He had hot mint tea and dinner ready. When Altaïr dropped in through the roof there was a still moment of silence between them. Malik worried that he broke trust with the light-heartedness earlier that day. Altaïr used to always pull practical jokes on Malik. Altaïr used to laugh. It was rare to get a smile out of him now.

"Safety and peace, Altaïr. Naheem is doing better. He was sitting up today and ate and washed. Were you able to find the merchant?" Malik broke the silence first knowing that Altaïr would not.

"Safety and peace, Malik." Malik really did like to hear his name spoken by Altaïr. "I did. I gave him the rest of my coin, but he wants more for the crutches in two days when they are ready."

"That's fine. We'll manage. Will you let me finish trimming your hair while you eat?" Malik hoped. Altaïr actually cautiously removed his hood and sat down, taking up the plate of proffered food. Malik knelt behind him and finished the trimming. His fingers ruffled through the soft brown and blond hair watching the setting sun dance on the highlights. He used to trim Altaïr's hair all the time when they were younger, before they were separated. Malik frowned to see Altaïr's shoulders shake a couple times before tensing. It bothered him how Altaïr would lock every pain up, even the emotional pains.

"Our new novice was asking for you." Malik needed to speak, the quiet was too much. "Why don't you read with him for a little while? I need to restart a map I accidentally ruined when the inspector came by."

Altaïr turned so suddenly that Malik almost fell back. "Inspector? What inspector?"

Malik related the events of the inspector watching the anger rise and fall in Altaïr. "He never found the journals. But I cannot make notes in the back of the log book anymore either. I understand why they come. I hope the Dai in Damascus gets as foul a treatment as I had. He had the gall to write a formal complaint about me and insinuate that I might be a traitor because I gave him hell about not treating our Brothers' wounds."

Altaïr quietly listened through the whole ranting, sometimes offering a comment here or there. Malik felt less alone in his plight. He brought his mapping supplies into the back room and offered Altaïr a book that would be good to read to Naheem and smiled as Altaïr recognized the gnostic text he had read before. Malik figured that Altaïr would be more comfortable reading something aloud that he was already familiar with.

Early the next morning Malik was surprised by the arrival of Junayd, though not nearly as surprised as Altaïr who got landed on with an OOF! Altaïr held the boy in the air and yelled at him for landing on him, "I might have thought you were the enemy and killed you!"

"Well, don't sleep in the MIDDLE of the floor and I won't land on you, Master Altaïr! There are OTHER people in the Brotherhood than you, you know! And we have to get in here too!" Junayd boldly yelled back.

Malik figured he had better break them up before their yelling drew attention. "Will you two shut the hell up! Naheem is still sleeping!"

Altaïr set Junayd down and asked, "Why are you yelling, Malik?" Junayd clamped his hands over his mouth to try to smother his giggling as Malik quietly fumed. The fuming evaporated as Altaïr smirked.

"Novice Junayd, you know the start of the training, you might as well start with Altaïr while I check on our wounded." Malik's hand shot out to land firm on the boy's head and hold him in place. "No, you cannot go in back and see him yet. Training first."

Junayd sighed, then knelt and performed the prayers for this day. He motioned Altaïr to do them with him. Altaïr did them feeling like a heretic. Then Junayd recited the Creed in the three languages he knew. Altaïr recited them with him, then continued in the other languages he knew. "Woah… how many languages do you know Master Altaïr? Will I know that many when I am a full informant or assassin?"

Malik peaked his head out to watch them, smiling, before vanishing unseen again into the back. As gruff and unpersonable as Altaïr was, he had this little adorable charm that crept out and enjoyed the attention.

Malik quietly explained to Naheem about the novice that could be heard in the other room. He treated Naheem's wounds again and helped him to sit up. After a little bit of food, Malik invited Junayd to meet Naheem in back and let the two just talk about their experiences. Insatiably curious Junayd asked all the questions Malik would have and other's Malik never thought of. He learned much from the conversation, like how very painfully little Naheem had learned before his rite.

It seemed that the two were almost on par in weapons training. Naheem had more field training, but had not yet learned the leap of faith. He could leap into hay from a roof. So that was a start. Junayd was ahead in that he took a life without help, even if it was a neighbourhood dog. Naheem had only ever had an assisted kill, though he didn't realize it. It was a kindness of Altaïr's to let the teen think it was his first kill. Naheem knew more languages and had more education than Junayd, but that was expected due to the five year age difference. Junayd was practically a master at blending in and adapting to situations. Naheem had learned his first blending upon arrival into Jerusalem.

Naheem had to get more rest, so Junayd was ushered out and on his way home. Altaïr hovered out of the way, hidden under his hood. Malik ushered him out as well with the money for the crutches and a warning that the Bureau was open to the public for the day. "And if you feel up to it, I have a few missions that need doing. Imran of the weavers. He runs a weaving dying house in the poor district. Women have gone missing from work there. My informant has watched it but the missing women never leave, so unless the underground is being used, they are not being smuggled out for slavery. It is likely that he is killing them and using their blood in a new dye he developed to make a rich red brown."

When Altaïr left, Malik stole the opportunity to read his journal before hiding it away. It read less randomly than the rest and focused on Altaïr's own feelings about caring for Naheem and his deep wish that he had his own children. The sadness weighed every word as Altaïr expressed the impossibility of that now and how he felt like an eagle with a chain on his ankle.

Malik wished he could give Altaïr that child. He unlocked the front door and changed the flagging outside to indicate he was open for scribe or mapping business. A woman with a baby rounded a corner and out of sight. Malik's heart pounded in his chest, "Nina?" she was already gone and he could not be sure of whom he saw, it was so brief.

* * *

A/N #2 – muwahahahahaha…..


	103. Chapter 103: Altair: Oops No Feather

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Just a little death and mayhem.

* * *

Malik ushered him out as well with the money for the crutches and a warning that the Bureau was open to the public for the day. "And if you feel up to it, I have a few missions that need doing. Imran of the weavers. He runs a weaving dying house in the poor district. Women have gone missing from work there. My informant has watched it but the missing women never leave, so unless the underground is being used, they are not being smuggled out for slavery. It is likely that he is killing them and using their blood in a new dye he developed to make a rich red brown."

Altaïr grumbled as he left. The money he double wrapped in fabric to prevent it from jingling. Wouldn't that be embarrassing to be caught because his coin jingled in his pouch? It would be a novice mistake. Altaïr grumbled again. Being treated like a novice annoyed him. Yet here he was running an errand and doing a novice assassin mission.

He growled out loud as he climbed a building in plain sight startling several civilians. He knelt in hiding on the roof silently reprimanding himself. Didn't he just go over this with a little novice? HIDE in plain view. Altaïr sat there a long while till the crowds below forgot what he had done. Just because he was treated like a novice does not mean he had to behave like one.

The sun beat down on his white robes and heated the metal of his blades to almost burning hot. Altaïr tried to lurk in every shadow he could. He found the weavers warehouse and the dying house. As he climbed in through a back window into a smaller room, the stench made him gag. His overheated stomach protested. His next breath failed to help. Altaïr dropped to his knees and vomited.

Four heat rotted corpses of naked women hung from the ceiling of the small room Altaïr had snuck into. They had been clearly violated, hung by the ankles, and bled like beasts into basins. The rings of the basins still marked the floor. The unbreathable air clawed its way into Altaïr's throat and made him vomit again. He rushed from the room, running into a man in the hallway. His blade bit through the underside of the man's chin and embedded into the brain in a blink. The entire dying house stank of various sour smells. Altaïr needed fresh air. He whirled up some stairs to a roof access and out.

On the roof he gasped and gasped. Inside there was a yell about the dead man in the hall. Someone struggled to shove a box over the hatch. Altaïr helped before even considering who he helped or why. A young girl held out a canteen of water and pressed her fingers to her lips before pointing to a guard on a nearby roof, pacing back and forth watchfully. The guard was too far for a throwing dagger, but close enough to call out if they were spotted. The two slunk around the boxes.

"My letter… you got my letter…"

Altaïr washed the taste of vomit from his mouth before handing back the canteen.

"One like you saved my mother a few months ago from some vile men in the street. I promised if ever I could help. But then she never came home from work…"

Now Altaïr studied his helper, a girl no more than twelve. "Why are you here?"

"Watching… I hoped I would see my mother. Sometimes I give a man notes. He wears clothing like yours, but is wrapped in scarfs so I cannot see his face well. He assured me help would come soon."

Altaïr scowled at her, "Go home. She's dead." The girl gasped and Altaïr regretted his irritable reply. The dies are made with blood. If she has been missing for more than a few days, then she has been bled like others. Now, go home, go somewhere safe. Never come back here. I will deal with this." It was a harsh promise born out of this growing need to do the right thing and this deep revenge for making him vomit mid-mission.

His strange golden eyes partially scared the girl into motion. She paused before running and took a chance to hug Altaïr. "Make it right for me… for her… for them." She scuttled across the roof to a place where she could drops and then to a ladder. He memorized the route, so he could use it later, maybe.

It took many moments to recover from the random hug. The day was then spent lurking about the dying house to locate this Imran. "Chop the last four and feed them to the swine. We'll need new ones in a few days. Find me some who have earned a promotion to work in the new factory." Altaïr narrowed his eyes to see in the crack window shutter to the man talking.

"Yes Imran," said the underling who hurried off to obey.

Imran approached the window and opened the shutters. Altaïr's hand shot out to clasp the man's head. His hidden blade snapped with a crunch and squelch through the temple and out again. Altaïr clung to the window's overhand and swung into the office, pulling the now dead Imran with him. He scanned the room and started knocking over bottles of alcohol and the oils lamps. Fire ate from liquid to liquid hungrily consuming till it caught the wood. Altaïr fled out the smoking window.

Screams soon filled the building as people abandoned it. The fire reached the chemical pots of the strange dyes with explosive abandon. Altaïr was glad he was on a very different roof. The guard from earlier sagged lifelessly to the ground. Then Altaïr yelled in frustration for he did not yet have a feather for this kill. And his proof was now burning up to nothing. At least the city alarm was sounding. Malik would surely know the deed was done. It was Altaïr's trademark now after all, wasn't it.


	104. Chapter 104: Malik: No ALLAH!

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Great picture!

.com/art/chapter-103-no-feather-170354798

* * *

The city alarm was sounding. Malik would surely know the deed was done. It was Altaïr's trademark now after all, wasn't it?

The customers in the Bureau looking over scroll styles lifted their heads and exchanged concerned looks at the sounds of the alarm bells. Malik sighed and rolled his eyes. _I swear, Allah, I am going to kill Altaïr. _He would have cursed aloud, but then he would lose the business of people who thought he was a pious scribe. He needed to maintain his cover. He escorted them to the door and let them know they can return in a few days after the city calms down. He wished them a swift and safe journey home.

The moment he changed the banners outside and the door was closed however, he cursed colorfully. Moments later an informant dropped in through the roof to let him know the reason for the alarm, "The dying house is on fire and well… exploding. Rumour is that it was the work of an assassin." Malik slapped his palm into his face and groaned Altaïr's name. _Yes, Allah, I am going to kill him. _The informant confirmed that Imran was indeed dead. _And what happened to the Creed and the rules? How many innocents are dying in that fire?_

Any and all thoughts of the blond hellcat known as Altaïr's ex-wife Nina were gone from Malik's mind as he double checked the locks on the door and roof hatch. He set out medical supplies expecting Altaïr to return wounded as usual from the alarms. Naheem asked what was happening and Malik went through the long explanation of protocol when people hear the alarms. Lock the doors and let no one in was the law. If you were outside, you hurry to your home and lock up, or got escorted by guards to your home. If that happened, you could expect to be checked for verification and they would likely go through your home to make sure no one snuck in while you were out. Malik ignored the loud knock on the front door, explaining that the guards were now checking houses for the criminal, and anyone not locked up would be thoroughly inspected.

Once again, the part Malik hated most, he waited. He shared with Naheem the general duties of a rafiq and set up a little writing table where Naheem could take his own notes and practice some writing to occupy time. "You have very elegant penmanship, Novice Naheem."

It earned Malik a sweet smile for Naheem was still thrilled to be called Novice Naheem and not just Novice. Naheem moved from writing to doodling. He was by far a better artist than Malik and almost hungry to do so. Malik called it natural talent whereas Malik had to practice to be this good.

When night fell with no Altaïr, Malik served out simple food and helped wash and re-bandage Naheem's leg. Naheem went to sleep without a sedative this night. Malik hoped he would be fine. However Naheem whined and moaned and moved in his sleep. Malik stayed up to keep easing him back to sleep. In a fit of night terror, Naheem sat bolt up and screamed, "DAAAD! TEMPLARS!" Malik immediately embraced the youth who finally wept for his lost mentor as if his heart were being torn from him. Malik knew this pain. He ached with it for Faruq and Kadar, his brothers. He had wailed like this on many nights in this Bureau.

Later, sharp yells outside on the roof foretold of guards in pursuit. Malik dashed to the open roof, gabbed the pole, fought it into place and slammed the lattice roof shut and locked. Footsteps pounded across the roof as Altaïr landed on his belly on the lattice, exhausted from running. He and Malik looked right at each other for three whole seconds before Altaïr was on his feet and running again. Eight soldiers at his heels.

Malik felt his heart nearly stop. He dared not speak. He strained to listen. He could do nothing else but stand there helplessly and watch through the lattice as the fight ensued on his roof. A spray of blood dripped through the lattice onto the carpets with a scrap of white fabric. _I didn't protect him…._

Quiet fell save for the din of the alarm bells. There was soon no fighting on the roof as it moved across to other roofs. Malik could not move from this spot even as the sun rose more than an hour later. Only then did he realize the alarm bells had stopped. That meant the threat was over. The danger quelled. The criminal caught or killed. His hand shook so badly he could not get the lattice unlocked and opened. He raged at it till it banged across the roof showering him in little vine leaves.

_This was supposed to be a small and simple novice mission, necessary but not dangerous for a master assassin like Altaïr._ Malik staggered through the morning as Naheem slept. He could not banish the shock of no safety in Altaïr's eyes through the lattice. _I… condemned him… Allah… I did not mean to wish him dead. Allah, please… please…_


	105. Chapter 105: Altair Lives

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Just shooting off a couple in the heat. There is nothing quite like heat stroke.

* * *

_This was supposed to be a small and simple novice mission, necessary but not dangerous for a master assassin like Altaïr._ Malik staggered through the morning as Naheem slept. He could not banish the shock of no safety in Altaïr's eyes through the lattice. _I… condemned him… Allah… I did not mean to wish him dead… Allah, please… please…._

Altaïr hated when the guards poured out on a hunt. It made an already bad day worse. He missed lunch and dinner and was thirsty. They chased relentlessly. They knew what to look for as if well informed. He had almost made it back to the Bureau when an archer spotted him. The chase recommenced. Just as he managed to kill a swath of them and escape, he ran into more. He had just lost their trail when he reached the Bureau, their yells all around. He only needed to drop out of sight and be safely lost to his pursuers. He had dove for the hole in the lattice, but Malik locked it shut at the last minute. _AAARRGGH! _This was NOT his day today. Malik followed protocol. Malik always followed protocol.

He launched from the lattice. Soldiers climbed the Bureau and had him almost trapped. Altaïr could not let this fight be here. _NOT HERE! I will NOT compromise the Brotherhood! I will NOT compromise Malik and Naheem!_ _NOT AGAIN! _He threw himself sideways to roll across the roof to his feet, sword in hand. He accepted a cut in order to make a kill. He stepped within range of a soldier's blade. The blade sliced into his hood along his cheek and ear, clipping his hood and exposing his face. In the same motion, Altaïr reached back and swung forward with his knife, spraying blood across the Bureau and dropping the soldier.

Then he ran, shoving men off the roof. He made an impossible leap across to another roof, rolling again, diving through a roof garden, scaling up and up and up. The soldiers threw bricks at him to make him fall. The landing was hard and Altaïr heard something crack. Inhaling burned. Shoving the pain aside he jumped for the ledge again and climbed. He had to stay far enough away to not be identified. Wrenching his body over the top of the beam of the high point, he gathered his feet below him. Muscles bunched and tensed. He pushed off, arms spread like wings. A brick knocked his foot and threw his balance off. He scrabbled in the air a moment before barely righting himself and vanishing into the pile of hay.

The soldiers reached a roof they could look over but saw no one, not even a splatter mark on the street. The grill to the sewer was broken. The body must have landed there. It would not be found now till the pieces of it washed up outside the city. The sun rose and word traveled that their criminal was dead.

Altaïr gasped and gulped painfully for air where he lay buried in the hay. Every muscle burned from hours and hours of running. The bells tolled deafeningly nearby. He dragged his bruised body from the hay feeling naked without his hood. Slowly avoiding people in the morning and stealing a scarf from someone's laundry hanging to dry, Altaïr made his way back to the Bureau. He almost decided to sleep in the roof garden a building over from the Bureau but wanted too desperately for unknown reasons to be safely hidden in the Bureau. Altaïr worried the lattice would still be locked. The bells stopped and Altaïr staggered over on the roof from the sudden silence.

The scarf served poorly so he tossed it off the roof into a pile of refuse. The noon sun was beating upon his pale skin and shimmering off the heated stones. The wood planks to the Bureau wavered and blurred. Altaïr crouched and inched across. The body was already gone from the roof, but the bloodstain remained. He did not trust his feet on the lattice. He was too tired and too hot to focus. The lattice was blessedly open. He laid on his belly on the hot stones not knowing even for how long before sliding over the fountain inside. He dipped his hand into the water and sipped, but he felt nauseous immediately. The water stung on his fingers. The room with carpets and pillows shimmered in tones of orange and red, bathed in blood, or just the setting sun.

Movement startled him as he startled the pigeons. He turned as Malik embraced him tightly. "Malik," he gasped out from a parched throat.

"You idiot novice!" Malik chastised while still holding Altaïr close. "It was a novice mission."

"He was going to kill more women… ordered it while I was listening… I forgot the feather…" As painful as it was to be squeezed Altaïr wanted to be nowhere else than right here. "I killed a man on the roof… but he's gone… there's blood on the roof still."

"Then you will just have to scrub it clean later. Stupid novice soiling my clean Bureau." Malik had been bearing most of Altaïr's weight as he walked toward the back room and snapped remarks at him.

"Malik… please… stop yelling…" Malik quieted. The room went from hot and sunny to hot and dim to safe and black.


	106. Chapter 106: Malik not so Smooth

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Still in the heat wave here in Montreal. So if my chapters are less exciting… sorry. I feel like Altair.

* * *

"Then you will just have to scrub it clean later. Stupid novice soiling my clean Bureau." Malik had been bearing most of Altaïr's weight as he walked toward the back room and snapped remarks at him, trying to keep the shake out of his voice.

"Malik… please… stop yelling…" Malik quieted. The room went from hot and sunny to hot and dim to safe and black.

Naheem half sat up as Malik half dragged Altaïr into the back and helped him lay on his bed mat. Malik ignored the teen for a moment as he knelt holding Altaïr's unconscious form too relieved to see him alive. _Thank you Allah. Thank you. I will never wish him dead again. I swear. _Then Malik wrenched his brain back to what needed doing, treating Altaïr's wounds. "Stay down, Novice Naheem. He'll be fine. I can take care of this."

"But I want to help."

Malik shot a warning look over at the teen to pin him in place. Those large brown eyes made him sigh and give in. "Fine. Watch his breathing while I get what I need."

"How come he is burnt, was he in a fire?"

Malik collected a basin of cold water and several cloths. He used his foot to nudge the medical sewing box closer to Altaïr. "Look at him carefully. Is anything else burnt?"

Naheem winced a little as he shoved a pillow over and wriggled onto it to sit closer without moving his leg much. He studied Altaïr's body.

There was no hood, or at least just scraps of one left. One side of his face was more burnt than the other, red right into the scalp. There were some small blisters forming on the reddened ear. Altaïr's fingers were red too with the right fingers showing some blistering too. The left ear and cheek were cut with blood dried and matted with hay stuck to Altaïr's face. Nothing else seemed wrong though. The clothing was dirty and sweaty, dotted with blood not Altaïr's, but no burnt fabric.

"No," Naheem finally replies. "That makes no sense."

Malik had Naheem help him unbuckle the armour and weapons and remove them. "This is not fire burn, this is sun burn." He undid Altaïr's tunic and pulled it and the shirt off him to expose the very pale skin. "See how he is not like you and I? He should not be exposed to the sun for long amounts of time. It is why we are so covered. Even we too can burn like this in the sun if we aren't careful." Malik went on to explain medicine as he treated Altaïr for the sun burn and the sun stroke. Talking kept him from worrying too much.

Naheem sliced open aloe leaves and Malik rubbed the gooey interiors over Altaïr's burned skin. Then he packed cold wet cloths around his neck and under his arms to bring down his body temperature. Altaïr choked on sips of water but did not wake. Naheem watched as Malik salved the cut on the right cheek. "It is not so bad. But I will have to stitch his ear." Washed carefully, the ear was a clean cut through the cartilage. That he stitches. Altaïr groaned and winced but still did not wake. Malik stripped Altaïr down completely and started a full examination, seeking out any other wounds. The bruising on Altaïr's back already showed black and purples and too soft over some ribs that Malik assumed were broken.

After tending all the wounds and wrapping them Malik prepared some dinner. Naheem stayed vigilant over Altaïr to make sure he still breathed and to offer water as often as he could. Malik returned to let Naheem eat and explained, "The role of a rafiq or a dai is sometimes this. Healing our wounded. Watching that they have what they need for their missions like clean weapons, trustworthy armour, good clothing, filled belt pouches, fresh water in the water bottles." He brought Naheem the supplies to clean Altaïr's blades and armour. "As novice, the weapons and armour are your task tonight."

Naheem cleaned each blade carefully. When he got to the wrist blade he finally asked, "My mentor…"

"I know. He was your father. Do you want to clean up his stuff too?" offered Malik. He brought over the sword, knife and wrist blade that Altaïr had left for the teen. Malik also brought over an eagle feather and dipped it in the bloody water from washing Altaïr then rubbed it on the bloody blades to gather as much blood as possible. He stood and singed some of the edges from a lamp flame. "And sometimes we need to be creative when we make a mistake and right it. I should have given him a feather before sending him on a sure mission."

The room was quiet with the simple sounds of work. Malik read through a medical book he had wondering if Tibah was studying the anatomy text he had loaned her. When Altaïr roused hurting and headachy, Malik made him drink more and nibble some bread and hummus. Then he rubbed more aloe over Altaïr's burns. Altaïr mumbled a promise to clean the roof later. "Later Altaïr. When you are not going to be a stupid novice in the sun and when your sibs heal some. Looks like we get to keep you hear for about another fortnight. Aren't I lucky?" Malik's sarcasm was not taken well.

Malik braced himself for the trek to buy the crutches for Naheem. He had one set of the payment in his usual pouch and a second payment stuffed behind the simple waist leather he always wore. Altaïr's vomiting from the heat and sun the previous day meant Malik could not count on him to buy Naheem's crutches. As expected, Malik was robbed. He earned only a couple bruises in places no one would notice and returned very irritable. He handed the crutches to Naheem and showed him how to use them. Naheem, of his own accord, moved to sleeping under the stars on the carpets.

Malik remained watching over Altaïr who grew snappish with every touch unless it was accompanied by the aloe. Malik asked about the mission. Duty persisted. Malik needed to record the events which he started with a small fudge where he marked in that he gave Altaïr all the details available and the feather to sanction the death. The rest he scratched in as Altaïr retold the experience. Malik slid the bloodied and mildly singed feather into place. Not having given the feather to Altaïr in the first place was Malik's own mistake. He should have known there was enough information and that Altaïr would take the chance if it arose, which it did. "You know, you don't HAVE to set off the city alarm every time you make an assigned kill. This man was not even a major city official."

Altaïr moved to the empty bed mat with his back to Malik.


	107. Chapter 107: Altair: We Carry Them

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – comment on a comment after this chapter

* * *

Malik's commented on Altaïr's mission, "You know, you don't HAVE to set off the city alarm every time you make an assigned kill. This man was not even a major city official."

Altaïr moved to the empty bed mat with his back to Malik. Was Malik accusing him of doing something wrong? Altaïr was not certain. He tried so hard to do it right. This is exactly why he felt he should have no hand in training Naheem. He brooded into the wall for the remainder of that night. Malik eventually left the room to scratch out the events into the log book and check on Naheem.

The next couple days were miserable for Altaïr. He was hyper sensitive to the sun and the heat. His ribs hurt badly in a variety of places. Altaïr decidedly hated thrown bricks and hoped that when they fell back to the ground that they hit the thrower in the face. He felt like a leper with his skin peeling where he had been sun burned. It freaked him out if Malik attempted to peel him or touch him even with the aloe.

"Well, Altaïr, if you would soak it would really help," suggested Malik.

Altaïr watched Malik drag out the bath, his nerves tensing him up. "I am NOT getting in that!"

Malik sighed heavily, "The first bath is for Naheem. Go get him while I fill it. Warn him it is going to be cold."

Altaïr escaped immediately. Naheem seemed so relaxed, but alone was more subdued than when others were around. Altaïr sat down on the carpets beside him. "Malik is preparing a bath for you." He noted how Naheem pinched at his eyes and nodded. His mentor's, his father's, wrist blade abandoned on his lap. Altaïr set it aside and rubbed Naheem's back. "In everything that you do, he will be with you." Naheem's large brown eyes met Altaïr's. Altaïr placed his other hand on Naheem's chest. "You carry him with you, here." Altaïr touched Naheem's brow, "and here. Now go take a bath before Malik comes looking for us."

He helped Naheem to his feet and handed him the crutches. Malik was behind the counter having been watching the exchange silently. "The bath is cold, Naheem." Naheem nodded and moved into the back carefully on his crutches. Altaïr and Malik stared at each other a long while. Finally, Malik raised his hand and touched his own heart then his own brow before dropping his eyes and turning to help Naheem in and out of the bath.

Altaïr leaned back against the wall. _Those deaths, Faruq and Kadar's, are my fault. If I do what he wants of me… everything… will he forgive me? Will he care? Is he just doing his duty? _Altaïr stared through the vines and lattice to the darkening sky. There would be no moon tonight. He picked absently at his peeling skin then shuddered. _Fine… I'll do it._

Naheem came out of the bath in a long nightshirt. This afforded him easier movement than the pants, especially when dealing with nature's calls. The thigh wound made so many things awkward. He was a striking young man with the sweetest face. He smiled crookedly at Altaïr. "All done. Malik is taking his, then you can have it." He innocently had no idea of Altaïr's deep aversion.

Naheem was used to Altaïr's silences already and thought nothing of this one. When Altaïr spoke, it was always something important. Unless it was a heated hushed spat with Malik. Those happened often enough in just the past few days. _They argue like … like … lovers…_ Naheem smothered his inner goofy grin at the total ridiculousness of two men, let alone THOSE two men being lovers.

Altaïr averted his eyes from the teen and tugged the new hood to hide his eyes. Silent feet stopped dead at the sight in the back room of Malik in the bath… bruised all over his torso. Something dark and ferocious rose in Altaïr. "Malik… what happened?" he demanded.

Malik scowled back, "Nothing's broken."

"That is NOT what I asked."

In the other room, Naheem rolled his eyes and muttered to himself, "There they go again."

Malik and Altaïr glared at each other. "The poor district and I do not get along very well. People don't much like cripples." Malik spat every word out harshly and as quietly as he could. Altaïr winced away from the reminder seeing Malik's stump out of the corner of his eyes. Malik sunk under the water a moment to rinse his hair before standing and stepping out. He dried off and pulled on some sleep pants. Then he dumped the water with a bit of struggle. Altaïr gripped the edges of the tub and helped.

Altaïr was surprised and yet not as Malik prepared a basin of water for Altaïr to wash. "Soak your hands in it for a while then gently scrub them. Your face and scalp are another matter and no bath would help there really. I do have some ideas." Altaïr just sat his chest burned and he hated to broken ribs and the bricks all over again.

Naheem closed his eyes to sleep knowing that the fight was pretty much over.

Altaïr relented to Malik's administrations and dealt with being peeled, soaked with wet towels, then soothed with more aloe. Malik did not make Altaïr get into a tub for a bath for which he was deeply relieved. He stayed silent the entire time mulling over Malik's bruises and decided to stay without fuss and run the errands for Malik till Naheem could run them and defend himself if necessary. He weighed his timing with the mission in Acre. He could afford twenty days but hoped Naheem would be healed sooner.

While Malik was checking Altaïr's broken ribs, Altaïr quietly suggested, "Why don't you fight back? Any man has a right to defend himself. If thugs try to rob you, why don't you fight them off. You can, even with one arm."

"Altaïr, I have a particular role to play here and it is supposed to be a lowly scribe and map maker. I am not supposed to be a good fighter. It would raise too many questions. I will not compromise the Brotherhood again. And yes, I did before you argue that point. I am only ashamed that you paid for that sin instead of me." Malik rubbed aloe into Altaïr's scalp to ease the burning and itching pain there.

"You lost so much already…"

Malik could say so many hurtful things out of anger for what happened, but the anger was gone. He touched his heart and then his head as he came to sit in front of Altaïr. "I have also gained some things."

* * *

A/N #2 - stormx wrote this:

He killed a random drunkard? Why not just knock him out? Don't think I like  
the random killings but ehh, it's your story. Also the stuff about Al Mualim  
sending him women to bear his children is kinda sad. Poor girls, having no  
control over their own lives. No wonder Nina ran away.

I need to address it here since stormx is not a member:

At the chapter point you made that comment, Altaïr was still struggling with the right and wrong of things and still making some mistakes. As for sending women to Altaïr, that was actually normal practice in that day to set a son up with his own harem or to arrange marriages. Women had very little say those days and in some areas of the Middle East still have little say beyond what their fathers or older brothers decree for them. And as for Nina… well… she is a special kind of special woman. I promise you will meet her at some point. I am sure you will sing a slightly different tune about her then.


	108. Chapter 108: Malik: Safety and Peace

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Sorry… delayed chapter. This weekend was mine and my husband's anniversary. That kinda took priority. Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

Malik could say so many hurtful things out of anger for what happened, but the anger was gone. He touched his heart and then his head as he came to sit in front of Altaïr. "I have also gained some things."

Malik watched those golden eyes regarding him with sadness still lingering. He wanted to somehow reach inside and truly ease it, but that was impossible. He almost caressed Altaïr's cheek but lowered his hand to rest over Altaïr's instead.

"I have gained a certain degree of autonomy I never would have had as an assassin. I have the opportunity to learn about the organization and how our Brotherhood was and is run, and think about ways it could be run better. I get to practice medicine like I have always wanted to. And I have gained an apprentice… two if you count Junayd who comes in the mornings a few times a week."

Malik wanted to say that he also started to regain the Altaïr he had thought lost forever too, but really was not sure how well that would go over. Malik was not ready to admit he never was interested in women, was not ready to admit he was only interested in men, was not ready to admit that he had been interested in Altaïr since before they were split apart, was not sure he felt strong enough to admit he was… in love, and sure as hell was not sure if Altaïr felt the same kind of love in return. They were all feelings he dared not address, even within himself. Except for that first one… that he has gained back Altaïr. However saying so might get misconstrued.

Malik noted how Altaïr dropped his eyes to their clasped hands, so Malik let go reluctantly. "In this position, I can help you find the traitor through other means. The informants and some of the lower ranked assassins in Jerusalem are mine to command, mine loyally."

"Then you should have one of them escort you discreetly on your errands," Altaïr shot back weakly.

Malik wanted to rap his knuckles on Altaïr's head for not entirely listening to him. He sighed as he rose to his knees and lean in close and inspect the cut and stitched ear. Altaïr turned his head to make it easier and then put his right hand onto Malik's hip to steady him. The contact felt too intimate and Malik's heart skipped a beat. Altaïr's left hand almost rose to touch Malik's stump. Malik saw the movement out of the corner of his eye. "Your ear is healing well. I think in a day or two I can take out the stitches." Altaïr turned his head back to look at Malik as he spoke. The sudden movement nearly caused their lips to touch and both men tumbled back away from each other.

Altaïr stood immediately and retreated to his sleeping mat. Malik scowled more at himself, that anyone else. His cheeks burned and he pulled on a robe against the night's chill. Or maybe against Altaïr's chill.

Junayd arrived punctually with the dawn light. Naheem slept out of the way so as not to get landed on. The two greeted with the usual "safety and peace" greeting and engaged in morning prayers and discussion while Malik rose and started some oats for breakfast. Altaïr's bed mat was empty and he wondered when Altaïr had slipped out and if Altaïr would return. The pale journal sat on the bed mat with his weapons which reassured Malik that Altaïr would indeed return.

He flipped open the journal to the last pages he had read and scanned the new entry. Various languages seemed to have been vomited onto the pages. Altaïr must have been woken by another night terror. Malik gauged his time based on the cadence of the prayers and ensuing discussion in the other room. Rereading the poor writing, he noted how the penmanship did indeed improve a little, the spelling was still almost phonetic, but with more reading and writing, Altaïr would indeed improve… or maybe not. Malik narrowed his eyes as he started to recognize patterns. Maybe Altaïr really did have a reading and writing problem that had nothing to do with practice. Malik had read some Greek medical text about such things. People with various learning difficulties often have signs of brilliance in other areas. Malik wished he could remember more about that book or read it again, but it was in Masyaf. He wondered why he had not considered this before for Altaïr. No wonder Altaïr was frustrated all these years with reading and writing.

Rereading the couple pages a third time, he automatically translated them.

_Pieces… targets… roles… Pawns… Are we all only pawns? The king is not the ruler of either side of the war. Who moves the king pieces? What piece am I? I guess I am like the Templars, knights hiding in plain sight to make a kill. Are we like Templars? They do not act alone. Templars act on their own. They have their own agenda. Pride will destroy us. My Greatest failure was borne of knowing too much… I know too much. I wanted to see… but that is madness. I must not repeat my mistakes. Where is the line between madness and ignorance? Is Ignorance not just another form of madness that leads to more moistakes?_

_They were madmen, freed from their madness and condemned back to madness. What right had I to do it? Shambling on the streets, shoving and wailing. I scream with them and let them scream for me. I silence them. Why won't their screams stop?_

_Why must it always come to violence? The Brotherhood… whose Brotherhood? They spoke of their Brotherhood. Is there another Brotherhood? Are we fighting ourselves? How do I tear down the wall in order to see and understand? What will I become if I do? Maybe just another madman… Was he helping them as he believes? Cannot speak of the talk in the fog… We are not having this conversation in Acre. It never happened. Why can't the fog just… never happen… it happens… it is not real… but I am there, I see, I hear, I go mad. Am I mad?_

_We are the same, are we not? We both kill… minor evils for greater good according to our own beliefs. What makes our decisions better than theirs? They seek a New World… What kind of New World? One of Safety and Peace? One of madness? One of freedom? One of control? Whose side are we on?_

_Innocence… there is no real innocence, is there? _

_Robbed of free will by choice or by drugs with promises of a perfect New World. We obey leaders. They make us obey. Who is leading who and is the cause noble? Our enemies believe they are acting nobly, helping. Yet they wage wars on peoples for what? Differences in a similar faith. We kill people because we believe we are acting nobly. We kill because we think and believe differently. For what purpose? Is there a Purpose? Greater Purpose? Or is it just a purpose… someone's decisions. Do we follow blindly? Drugged by ignorance? Drugged in fact and set out to kill. I kill. I don't know why… I have killed under a drug and didn't even know who. Why? Who sent me? WHO SENT ME? _

_I am mad… raving mad… hide my insanity… _

It was hard to digest. Malik didn't even know where to begin, but this is exactly what Altaïr had been deeply troubled by all this time, all this year. It seemed like the ravings of a lunatic, except the undercurrents were too logical. Altaïr was trying to understand things going on that were so much larger than he was, yet he was a piece playing such a crucial part, the assassin against key people, nine in fact. Malik closed the journal. He felt like a victim, too. He lost two brothers and his arm to this too large something that was troubling Altaïr. He wondered if Altaïr had questioned before Solomon's Temple. Malik could see how stripping Altaïr of rank and forcing him to relearn the ways of the Assassin kept him from rising too high or looking too deeply, or thinking too independently. However, it was the very best thing AL Mualim could have done for Altaïr. It helped Altaïr have a foundation on which to build and question and think morally. Malik considered AL Mualim's brilliance. Maybe AL Mualim needed help finding the traitor and Altaïr was that key to doing so, as he was in killing the other traitor. While Malik hated many of the things done to Altaïr, he had to also commend the man for his wisdom. Malik set the journal back beside Altaïr's pillow and returned to his novices who sounded like they left training discussions are were chatting about local gossip.

The morning's official training began with the meaning of the greeting. "Safety and peace my novices." They greeted him in kind with smiles. "And what do we mean by this greeting?"

"It is… it means… We wish safety and peace on the person we greet," Junayd felt proud of his answer.

"It means more than that," countered Naheem. "It means the promise of safety and peace we request and offer each other. It is confirmed with each greeting."

Malik added, "It is also the goal of our Order to seek and offer safety and peace for all people of the world, a reminder of why we do what we do."

He engaged the two apprentices in translation, having them translate the greeting in each language that they knew. This was more challenging for Junayd who still barely had a grasp on Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. Naheem could translate the greeting into Latin and Hebrew, but not Greek. He also translated it into Italian and Spanish and fumbled through it in English. Malik helped him. Altaïr dropped in and greeted them in German and for the fun of it, Chinese, just to throw Malik, although there was no smile touching the corners of his lips.

"Where have you been, Altaïr?" Malik tried to keep his tone casual.

Clearly Altaïr was unsure of what the tone was as he replied with a wary hint, "I left a mark on the roof I had to clean before people woke to see me." He tugged the hood over his eyes and slipped past them all into the back room to lie down.

Malik handed out paper for the novices to practice writing the greeting in the various languages. Naheem tutored Junayd, while Malik looked in on Altaïr. "Are you hurting? Did you strain your ribs?" as if he knew. Of course Altaïr strained his injuries. Scrubbing the roof would do that. Altaïr remained on the bed mat silently facing the wall. Malik hated these brooding silences. He'd address this, but he had two novices who needed his attention. Altaïr can wait. He didn't seem in bad pain and has likely been up way too early and needed sleep.

Malik returned to the novices to review the care of blades and leathers. The two novices learned to identify several other blade types and how to care for them. Junayd ooo'ed and ahhh'ed at the wrist blade that now belonged to Naheem, although he was not allowed to wear it yet. He had a long way to go before he earned the right to actually use that weapon. Junayd practiced with the throwing knives again, showing much improvement and asked if he could really keep the one Malik loaned him. Alas, it was time to give it back. Malik wanted to thoroughly check how well cared for it had been.

The time flew by too fast as Malik handed out breakfast to the novices. He set a bowl of oat porridge between the wall and Altaïr's face on the bed mat. Kneeling, he hovered over Altaïr's sore ribs. "Don't… don't touch, Altaïr breathed with difficulty. Malik rested his hand instead on Altaïr's shoulder to find him tense. With a frown Malik pushed back Altaïr's hood to see the pained expression. Altaïr did not move, he was too focused on trying to breathe.

Malik touched very lightly in various places about Altaïr's torso, "Relax the muscles in these areas." He knew anatomy better and using what Altaïr knew of the pain shunting technique, could advise him how to ease the pain best. "Good, now slow shallow breaths… Deeper… deeper… there. Keep that up." He ran his fingers through Altaïr's hair knowing how it would relax the assassin in his sleep and hoped it might do so now. There was a moment of extra tension, but with each breath and each stroke through Altaïr's hair the tension eased bit by bit till he was relaxed and his eyes began to droop. His breathing slower, steady, unstrained. Malik considered telling him to eat before it went cold, but decided not to bother. Altaïr was almost asleep.

Junayd had to wolf his food down and rush off to his next lessons. Naheem watched the boy scrabble and scramble up the fountain and finally to the roof. "Master Malik? Will I be… crippled?" asked Naheem when Malik re-entered the open air sitting room.

The room seemed to have suddenly lost air. It took a moment for Malik to take a breath. "No," he said firmly. "You should heal well enough if you are careful. You might limp, but with some training, I think you will manage well enough." _We are all wounded people in this Bureau. I think maybe, I am the least wounded at the moment. I cope well. I need to help them to cope._

_

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_

A/N #2 – I had made some small errors in my history. The first was of coffee, but I am sucking that one up and asking you all to have some lenience in my fudging of history. The second was of tea, which I realize was not an error at all. Malik makes mint tea from mint leaves as a beverage alternative from water or juice. He does not like wines for his own reasons. Tea was an Asian import as early as the 10th century and was very expensive. Other cultures made their own versions of boiled leaf juices not from tea leaves. So… all good there!

A/N #3 – I would like to thank wikiquote for helping me with game quotes within this chapter and from other chapters. You can find them at this website:

http:/ en .wikiquote .org/wiki/Assassin%27s_Creed


	109. Chapter 109: Altair Coping

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Hard couple days. A pet died. Sorry for the lateness. The pet was a leopard gecko who was pregnant with eggs I was hoping to incubate. I offer her safety and peace on her journey to the divine. May bright blessing guide her way.

* * *

The room seemed to have suddenly lost air. It took a moment for Malik to take a breath. "No," he said firmly. "You should heal well enough if you are careful. You might limp, but with some training, I think you will manage well enough." _We are all wounded people in this Bureau. I think maybe, I am the least wounded at the moment. I cope well. I need to help them to cope._

Everyone copes differently with their various wounds. Naheem clings to the familiar and hopes as any teen might that someone wiser will make things right. He wept easily and openly for his losses. He smiled shyly with equal ease. He was grown up enough to be considered a man by most, though still in need of much training. He coped like one not exposed to so much harshness. He had a good mentor, a good father, who cared and supported. It made a huge difference.

Malik also had a family of support and had a faith to lean on when things overwhelmed him. He would grump and slam books and throw things if he needed to vent. That never changed from when he had two arms to when he ended up with just one. It was how he coped with stress, vent it out. It always came out as anger, and sometimes ended as misdirected attacks. Alone in the Bureau, he could vent all he liked or needed about his own losses. The people in his life were gone. His arm was gone. He thought hard every day about those losses and weighed them with what he gained. He prayed, not to any particular god or in any particular faith, but to… something. Malik might consider himself agnostic in his beliefs with a strong curiosity toward Gnosticism. He was never alone in that sense, even if he felt alone sometimes.

Altaïr lacked most of the coping mechanisms of those he currently shared Bureau space with. He coped by shutting everyone out. It was easier to not feel anything, to put up a front of arrogance and confidence. He knew he was the best at what he did. But what was it really to be considers an exceptional killer. It meant one was little more than a hunter, a predator, a bird of prey. Altaïr coped by hiding behind these masks that everyone saw and assumed about his personality. He'd only just hit the 25 year mark in his life, and nothing improved. Just as he had thought he might stand on his own and get a chance to do as he pleased, stretched those independent wings, he found he had lost who he was and became the horror of what people saw. Worse, he hurt the only people in his life he held any respect and love for. How did he cope now? Hiding again behind masks that frayed and sometimes fell away. He used his hood as a physical mask, a shield to hide behind so other could no longer see the damaged soul in his eyes. Malik sometimes saw it though, despite Altaïr's best efforts.

Altaïr hurt so badly from scrubbing the roof of the blood from his kill the other day that he could hardly breathe. It was a front again to be cocky in front of the novices and quote in languages he knew that did not know. He was surprised Malik saw through him. He hurt too much to protest more than the one gruff request when food appeared on the bed mat, and when Malik touched him. Malik moving his fingers through Altaïr's hair stirred so many emotions. It stirred his sense of the friendship they lost, the intimacy and almost love. It stirred his desire to find those feelings again, even if it were only physical. There lingered a degree of comfort in the familiar roles of being told what to do and not having to bother with the responsibility of the decisions, just obeying.

Sleep stole his senses as the pain in his chest eased. He slept so hard that morning, he never heard the thunk thunk of the throwing knives during practice. The sound of weapons would normally have woken him into alert defense. Safety and peace in some ways existed here.

And yet, his mind would not give him either. It dredged up things out of the fogs. It dredged up the recent discussions with Al Mualim with all the unanswered, deftly avoided questions. It dredged up a private office with a desk that Altaïr knew too well from leaning over it in his punishments and lessons. He asked himself over and over why he gave in. Why? He could have just left. He could have fought the old man. Yet part of him wanted. That was the bottom line. He wanted to feel like he was doing something right, pleasing someone. Malik sure as hell would not let him close enough.

The days blurred a little for him in the routines that manifested. Malik taught Naheem the basic functions of being a dai and rafiq. Altaïr stayed out of the way, invisibly watching the new mentor and novice. The little novice came ever few mornings. Altaïr wrote more of the chaos in his mind into the journal from various places out of sight. He even tried to anticipate some of Malik's needs and run the errands so Malik did not have to.

All other times he spent training himself, working out and exercising. Naheem joined him on some of those times when the exercises did not strain his leg. Malik watched like a hawk to make sure neither strained their injuries.

Altaïr found this break more helpful than he expected. Malik asked nothing of him beyond resting, writing and exercises for healing. He listened to the lessons as though he were ignoring them, like he used to when Malik helped tutor Kadar. Sometimes his questions and highlights from the discussions between Malik and Naheem found their way into his messy journal. The more he wrote, the more he wanted to write. The candles flickered and guttered out one night. Altaïr blinked in the sudden darkness.

"Go to sleep Altaïr," Malik's drowsy whisper carried across the room in the dark, "I am not far if you need me."

_I have always needed you, Malik._

_

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_

A/N #2 – Comments on reviews:

**Sara Van Tasia** – who offered to do German translation… PLEASE! Can you translate "Safety and peace" as well as the Creed into German for me?

**Lemming** – Ooooo… sandstorms… They are in the back of my mind for a later chapter now! Thanks for the climate suggestion.


	110. Chapter 110: Malik and the Complication

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Someone did art for the fic… a picture of Junayd, Tibah, and Naheem. It is wonderful!

_http:/ stormcrowx .deviantart .com /art/i-dont-know-what-171165238_

_

* * *

_

"Go to sleep Altaïr," Malik's drowsy whisper carried across the room in the dark, "I am not far if you need me."

_I have always needed you, Malik._

Malik woke at dawn as usual. Unexpected warmth pressed against his back as he opened his eyes. He frowned and turned just enough to look over his shoulder. A white hooded figure under a blanket curled close, face buried almost between Malik's shoulder blades. _Altaïr._ He pretended to sleep as long as he could. Altaïr woke little over an hour later and vanished off to the calls of nature. Malik then sat up. Altaïr had been silent and near invisible for days, it worried Malik. The introversion, more than normal for even Altaïr, was bothersome. Malik decided to involve Altaïr today in some activities, engage him a little.

Having Altaïr cook breakfast, however turned out to be the very worst way to engage him. Three men looked warily at the blacked eggs that might be called scrambled. Malik ate them anyways, bad as they were. Naheem ate around them.

"Altaïr?" Malik ventured, "Are you feeling up to running an errand for me while I check on Naheem's leg?" The white hood bobbed. "I need more healing salve, general healing salve. Can you get it from Tibah's apothecary stall in the main market?"

"You are asking me to expose myself to them."

Malik tilted his head and gave Altaïr a sour look, "I think you succeeded in exposing yourself to her quite a bit already, this will be nothing by comparison."

Altaïr's fist clenched and his cheeks burned as red as if the sunburn suddenly returned. Naheem decided the eggs were suddenly wonderful! Altaïr stood, leaving the plates for Malik and Naheem to clean. "You need to deal with her, Malik," Altaïr snapped before helping himself to the jar of coins hidden under the counter and vanishing out the roof access.

Naheem asked, "Who is Tibah?"

"A very pretty and precocious girl about your age who wants to learn healing along with the apothecary skills she has already learned from her father." At the little grin that snuck its way across Naheem's face and into his eyes, Malik added, "You'll meet her, I promise." That grin became very large and goofy. Malik chuckled at the twinkling in the teen's eyes. "Don't get so star struck yet, young man. You haven't met her yet."

Malik prepared a bath for Naheem and helped him into it to soak the wound and ease the tension building in his leg muscles.

An informant dropped in through the roof access as quietly as any assassin. "Safety and peace, Dai Malik," he greeted.

Malik drew out the large tome to log the news and paused as the book thudded heavily on the counter. This was not one of his informants. "Safety and peace. What brings you to Jerusalem?"

"I came for information. I have been tracking someone who I am sure arrived here a couple weeks ago. I also have news and both relate to Altaïr. I am assuming he is here since he has not been sighted anywhere and no one claims to have killed the Great Novice Eagle."

Malik clenched his own fist and wanted to spit vicious things back as this man. He held his tongue on his harsh words. "I have already send a bird to Al Mualim about the arrival of Altaïr wounded with a novice and news of the death of the novice's mentor by Templars. The novice is in back healing. Altaïr has stepped out to test his recovery. Tell me your news and the information you seek. I will help as best I can."

"My news is that Adha is confirmed dead. So we will cease wasting men searching for her. Altaïr ought to know. The news is that I have tracked his wife, Nina to Jerusalem. We should have here back along with her baby soon. However, if you have any information on her whereabouts, it would be helpful to hasten our search of the city. Al Mualim wants her back in Masyaf for the safety of the baby."

Malik nearly blanched. _So it WAS Nina I had seen._ There really was no mistaking her blond hair, even if she covered it. He had noticed the escaping wisps. "She has been running from us for a year, now. What makes you think she will want to return to Masyaf? She does not want Altaïr and Altaïr wants nothing to do with her. Why not leave the whole situation be?"

"Do you hear yourself, Dai?" asked the informant baffled by the lack of Malik's logic. "She may hate us for whatever reason, or just hate Altaïr. Either way, she knows too much about us to be roaming free."

"And in that whole year she has obviously done nothing with that information. Do we really need to make a bad situation worse? I can ask my informants to watch for her and when we locate her, we can let Al Mualim know and see how he wishes to proceed from there." Malik gambled with the politics of the Brotherhood.

"My orders are from Al Mualim. I will be back here in a week for information if I have not found her yet." He showed a letter to Malik that was wrapped around an eagle feather. It was signed by Al Mualim sanctioning this man as an assassin. "I will act if I must. You may add this information to your log."

Malik lost the gamble. He opened the log book and transcribed the note into it with the indication that a feather from Masyaf has been issued by Al Mualim's own hand. Yet, Malik learned something new. So in a way he gained something. He studied the man before him. This was in fact an assassin now that Malik looked closer, a master, but not as high ranked as Altaïr had earned. He wore the scarf of an informant so he served double duty and crossed borders. He served Masyaf and the Master. "I will summon my informants for tomorrow and try to have news for you when you return. Good hunting, Brother."

The man took back his note and tucked it with the feather back into his belt pouch.

"Before you go, tell me the age of the child?" Malik needed to know if it was Altaïr's or a newborn from some other man.

The hunter pondered before answering, "I think about three or four months old." He gave a final nod to Malik and climbed out to return to his hunt.

Naheem had managed to get out of the tub on his own, dry off and dress and hobble out on his crutches. "Master Malik. I didn't know Master Altaïr had been married, twice."

"Hush novice Naheem." Malik snapped. He needed quiet to think. He tore through the trunk for the all call flag and set it outside. "Novice Naheem, take the stairs to the roof, carefully. Wait for Altaïr there. When he comes, tell him to go hide for two days and take you with him. The salve is for your leg, try not to tear the stitches."

"What's going on?"

"A meeting for informants. You are a novice assassin, so you do not belong in it and are well enough to make yourself scarce. Now go!"

Naheem made sure he had his uniform put together with all the supplies he needed. He stuffed a small bag with his wrist blade and some food from the kitchen. A little bit of deliberation and he left behind the crutches. Malik locked the roof hatch behind him and readied for this meeting. He paced as he debated whether or not he would send little Junayd home. Novice informants should not be here either. Or should they? He honestly didn't know. He slammed his hand on the gate as he threw it open. Marching by he dug out the Dai/rafiq manual and scoured through it for an answer.

Malik paced as he read, weighing the pros and cons and the rights and wrongs of this situation with Nina and a baby that Malik knew for sure now was Altaïr's.

* * *

A/N #2 – Nina… oh Nina… a walking complication in Altaïr's life.


	111. Chapter 111: Altair: Away from Home

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Let me stir the pot of complicated lives.

* * *

Malik paced as he read, weighing the pros and cons and the rights and wrongs of this situation with Nina and a baby that Malik knew for sure now was Altaïr's.

Naheem sat on the roof just in view of the lattice. His back presses against the crates that he sometimes lifted the lid off to peek inside. He had a shaded spot so far and hoped Altaïr returned before the sun moved enough to leave him no shade. It was hard to imagine Master Altaïr ever having been married, let alone twice. He knew how his father had handled it and knew it was hard on their family, more so when his mother had died in childbirth with her second child. Her previous difficult and failed attempts to have a second child were why Naheem had started training only when he was about thirteen or fourteen. He had stayed with her to help her as much as possible through those difficult times.

Naheem didn't realize he was crying until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He wiped his face with his grey sleeve. "Master Altaïr. I'm sorry. I should have been paying attention."

Altaïr nodded but did not reprimand the teen. "Why are you out here? Did Malik throw you out?"

"Yes… I mean no!" Naheem wrinkled his face in frustration. "He told me to wait out here for you. You and I are to go hide for couple days then come back. He has to call an all informants meeting."

Altaïr wondered what it was about but knew that it meant he had to get scarce with Naheem soon. Who knew how long the boy had been on the roof. They very carefully made their way across the wood beams to the other roof. Naheem limped badly without the crutches. Altaïr's eyes constantly searched the roofs for archers. They arrived at the jump they had done last time. As Naheem deliberated about how the hell he was going to manage it, Altaïr gripped the teen's tunic. "Roll when you land."

Naheem's eyes went wide as he refrained from yelling his protest. Altaïr braced his feet and threw Naheem across the gap between the buildings. Naheem rolled with far less grace than Altaïr imagined. He made a mental note to teach Naheem how to roll, especially with the leg. That could be something to do over the two days. The ladder was slow too, but went easier as Naheem hopped one-footed down the rungs.

At the bottom, Altaïr pulled Naheem's hood up. "Be unseen." He lead Naheem through the crowds, sometimes giving him a direction and meeting him at a location. Sitting on a bench in a shaded alley, Naheem poked into the bag of food and handed a squished bun to Altaïr. They nibbled in silence. Altaïr broke the silence by explaining a more complicated route to a location. He shot up the building to take a high road leaving Naheem to take the more complicated street-level route to a ruined church. It was just off the quarry where Altaïr had taken the life of the regent.

In hindsight, Altaïr cursed a great deal from the roof of it. There was no way in from street level and apparently someone had taken away the ladder that used to lean against the wall. Altaïr retraced his path to watch over Naheem from the roof. This is what he wanted someone to do for Malik, be invisible and watch that he came to no harm. A small throwing knife between his fingers would end trouble before it began.

Naheem was slow. He had to pause often. He limped more and more as he went. He sat on a bench to rest. Altaïr took that moment to drop in and sit with him. The sun was setting and Altaïr thought hard how they were going to manage this. He could easily get into the boarded up building beside the ruined church, but Naheem could not climb with his leg. After securing the nook near where the ladder would have been, Altaïr handed over all the throwing knives. "Kill anyone who comes close. There are lots of drunks in this area and they will beat you to death if they can. Archers will start to fill the rooftops. So watch above too." He did not wait for an answer as he took a page from Junayd and pulled off his hood and tunic and armour and weapons. He used his red sash as a scarf about his head and was dressed only in his dark pants and light grey long-sleeved shirt. "Guard my thing." It was a risk, but he felt strongly that it would work. Naheem was actually very decent with throwing knives.

Altaïr wandered off. He roamed about cautiously and stole a ladder from another location pretending like he was ordered to do this. He was stopped once by a guard he considered killing, then recalled he left everything with Naheem. He wondered how Malik managed a whole year roaming this city with no weapon on hand. He lied to the guard in a mumble of Arabic that his master told him to do this task and he was late and in trouble already. The guard let him be on his way. Soon he returned to Naheem and reclaimed all his gear with great relief. Now that had a ladder. It was not quite tall enough, but it would have to do.

Altaïr climbed first and waited till Naheem reached the top of the ladder. He pulled Naheem up the rest of the way, and then he had Naheem hold his legs so he could reach down and grab the ladder to pull it up. This would be their hiding place for now. They relaxed for a couple hours and nibbled the food Naheem brought. There would be no training tonight. Naheem needed to rest his leg from the long trek without crutches.

They scrounged rough blankets from within the ruined church and flopped down on the hard floor under a broken window that exposed the starry sky. Naheem regretted not bringing a blanket from one of the roof crates he had peeked in. They slept close together for the warmth as they had on their journey to Jerusalem.

Naheem fidgeted in his sleep keeping Altaïr awake. He tried to rub the teen's back to soothe him to sleep, but Naheem clung closer. An awkward stiffness from Naheem against him made Altaïr's eyes pop open. His whole body became rigid as he realized what was happening to Naheem. He did not need this complication! He did not need this confusion of arousal to inspire his own needs. Yet, could he fault the youth? The teen was asleep. As it was, Altaïr had already deduced that Naheem was a late bloomer in some ways since he was already fifteen but did not yet have much body hair. So, Altaïr concluded this was one of those dream moments that one woke from completely humiliated from. Malik had at least taught Altaïr how not to be humiliated by something that the body did naturally. Question was, how to do so delicately now?

Altaïr, unfortunately is anything but delicate….

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A/N #2 – What would Altaïr do?


	112. Chapter 112: Malik Tracking Nina

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – And so the plot thickens...

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Altaïr, unfortunately is anything but delicate….

Thankfully, Malik could probably delicately script the word delicate into the middle of his Arabic name discreetly when he chose. This was one of those moments. He trusted that Altaïr and Naheem would vanish for a few days. He waited with a map of Jerusalem open on the counter and the log book open at the page with the notes taken from the man hunting Nina. The Informants trickled in one by one as they had when they were summoned for the inspector. Malik set out a smaller notebook where he started to keep the more detailed notes of little missions for Junayd. He added the information about Nina to this back-up log, where he included his possible sighting of her with the date, time of day and location.

Junayd arrived with one of the old Dai's son's who was an informant training him. Malik looked them all over and thought about the few local assassins who lived in Jerusalem that helped him deal with small local missions. Not having seen any of them for over a month was alarming. He made a note about that, to address it and summon them… later. Six informants crowded the counter, Junayd made seven and he helped himself to a box to stand on so he could see the map too. At Malik's frown at his arrival, he immediately defended himself, "I came with him. I am under mentorship for the week." Malik sighed resignation. Junayd's temporary mentor rubbed the growing fuzz on the boy's head.

Malik puffed his cheeks as he blew out his breath. They were all here and the sun was setting. "Please, this is a complicated issue that may take some time to sort out." He ordered one to close the lattice roof, another to set the cushions for everyone on the floor to sit and another to move the map of Jerusalem to the floor where they all could sit around it. Junayd helped bring out cups and another helped Malik bring out a large plate of finger foods to feed them through this potentially long meeting.

"Now that you know how to call us all, is this going to be a habit?" one informant joked lightly. The chuckles died instantly at Malik's sour expression.

"We have someone in from Masyaf acting as a traveling informant who has a feather from Master Al Mualim to kill his target. He expects our cooperation and will return here in a week for whatever information we can find for him." Malik set down the two log books, the official one and his personal one, as he seated himself among these men.

"That is not unusual," replied an informant. "A hunt that will cross from city to city if the target is very mobile will be treated like this."

Malik made a note of that. "Thank you, I did not know if this was something that has happened before."

"Didn't Altaïr have a similar kind of mission when we had a traitor among our ranks that turned out to be Master Al Mualim's second in command?" The man nearly spat at the man who turned Templar and betrayed them but remembered that Malik disliked people actually spitting on his floor.

"You are right! So we have a hunter like this in the city. He asks that we be his eyes and ears, help him find this target of his who is hiding here."

"What do we know of the target?" Another asked.

"We search for a blond woman who has masterfully hidden herself for over a year from Al Mualim's hunters. She has arrived in Jerusalem recently."

"Nina?" Of course they would know the rare blond woman from Altaïr's life. Few women would be here with that hair coloring.

"Yes, Nina is here with her child… Altaïr's child." He let them murmur in surprise a moment. "No, Altaïr does not yet know, but I expect he will soon. Novice Naheem, the novice he brought to me who was injured was here when the hunter came by. I sent him out to be in hiding with Altaïr for this meeting."

"I thought Nina was dead."

"No," corrected Malik, "but Adha has been confirmed dead, so those of you with that on your list can no longer search or watch for news of her." Some nodded.

"She has been gone from us for a little over a year now, why is she being considered a threat? If she were really a threat, she could have gone to the Templars long ago."

This was one of Malik's own thoughts. "She is always a threat. Make no mistake. She is a venomous woman who might lay low for a long while before she actually strikes. She knows too much about Altaïr, too much about me, too damned much about our Order. The hunter is supposed to find her and bring her and that baby back to Masyaf, failing that, he will kill her. He is primarily on a retrieve mission." It sounded so much like what happened to Altaïr as a child. The difference was that Nina was not the actual target to retrieve. Malik suspected it was the child.

"If he kills her, what the hell will he do with a baby who is likely not even weaned yet?" This was the informant with the adorable four year old daughter and a now pregnant wife. "It sure won't survive the journey to Masyaf without a wet nurse."

"Those are technically not our concerns." Malik scowled as he stated this as flatly as he could without the anger invading his voice. After a year working with Malik, most of the informants knew.

"Stay your blade from the blood of an innocent," whispered Junayd.

"Nina is not an innocent, Novice Junayd."

"The young novice shot back his interpretation of the Creed. "I didn't mean her. If she is a mean woman as you say and possibly could be a traitor, then she isn't an innocent. I meant the baby. If we let her die, then in a way our information guides the blade that will eventually lead to the death of an innocent life. We are supposed to help provide safety and peace for all in the world." These had been some of his lessons about the greeting and the Creed he had recently with Malik and his other teachers here in Jerusalem who were among the Brotherhood of Assassins.

The boy's words stirred much debate and argument. Malik waited for them to quiet, though made small notes based off some of the ideas generated and the concerns raised. "We have one week to locate Nina before the hunter does. I want you to track her, know her every move. I want to know where she is staying and the state of both her and the child. I want to know every person she comes into contact with and why." Malik watched as the orders sunk in and informants nodded to the decisions. "No one, at any time is to engage her whatsoever. I do not want her spooked into running and hiding again."

"What is the assassin finds her first?"

This was the one thing Malik had no control over and the one thing he dreaded most. "Then it is out of our hands." It was a sad fact. If the assassin got to Nina first, what could he do really? The man would do his duty and no one could do anything about it. Malik wasn't even sure yet what he would do with the information about Nina as it was. He needed more time to think and plan. He didn't like making snap decisions like Altaïr, too much opportunity for something to go wrong.

For the time being, Malik hoped Naheem had the good sense to not share anything he may have inadvertently overheard that was none of his business. Malik did not really want Altaïr knowing about Nina. Altaïr might do something stupid and impulsive.

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A/N #2 – Speaking of impulsive actions… Onward to Altaïr and Naheem!


	113. Chapter 113: Altair: Awkrard Moments

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Awkward… awkward awkward… can we all say AWKWARD!

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For the time being, Malik hoped Naheem had the good sense to not share anything he may have inadvertently overheard that was none of his business. Malik did not really want Altaïr knowing about Nina. He might do something stupid and impulsive.

Altaïr concluded that Naheem was having one of those dream moments that one woke from completely humiliated from. Malik had at least taught Altaïr how not to be humiliated by something that the body did naturally. Question was, how to do so delicately now?

Altaïr, unfortunately is anything but delicate….

"Naheem," hissed Altaïr. Naheem only mumbled and shifted his body against Altaïr. Gritting his teeth as his own body started to want as well, Altaïr snapped, "Naheem."

Naheem jerked awake. A couple panting gasps he soon became aware of his compromising position and why Altaïr had woken him so suddenly. He inhaled sharply.

Sensing the pending yell of startlement, Altaïr rolled over to pin Naheem down with a hand clasped over the teen's mouth. A yell might alert roof archers of their hiding place. This was no better of a compromising position for either of them. When Altaïr was sure Naheem would not yell, he backed off. Naheem groaned in humiliation wishing he had been killed by an archer. He mumbled out a weak apology to Altaïr.

"Novice Naheem, stop. I am not mad at you and there is nothing to be embarrassed about." Altaïr sat up and leaned his back against a support post. "You did something in your sleep I cannot fault you for. Not like we can control what we do when we are sleeping."

"But.. Allah… I was… it was… it IS… I wish it would not DO this!"

"Hush… not so loud." He glared at the teen a moment watching him shiver in the cold night air. "Didn't your mentor teach you how to deal with this kind of situation?" Naheem shook his head. "Haven't you had this happen before?" Naheem mumbled in a stressed and cracking voice that he has only suffered this condition the past few months. Altaïr sighed.

Naheem felt plagued. He felt dirty. He felt like something was deeply wrong with him and if he thought too much on it, he grew stiff again and he wanted to just scream at it.

"Fine. Come here and bring the blanket before you freeze." Naheem edged over, face still burning with humiliation till he sat between Altaïr's legs. "Stretch out your leg or I'll have hell from Malik for letting you strain those stitches. Lean back against me and cover yourself with the blanket." Talking at least killed Altaïr rousing member. He racked his brain for how Malik would handle this. How did Malik handle it with him? Altaïr felt clumsy and rough and not at all like the right person. He was not a man of fine words like Malik. He didn't know the right thing to say.

Bluntness was his only tool, or action, or both.

"You've seen animals breed? I hope you know where babies come from." Naheem nodded at Altaïr's questions, groaned and felt like a child. "Good. When a boy becomes a man, his body gets ready to be able to do that. Yours is just working out the how to. It can be frustrating. And sometimes it happens even to me on missions."

"It… does?" Naheem leaned his back against Altaïr's chest.

Altaïr tucked the blanket better around them both as Naheem nestled in close. Cold feet would have to be tolerated. Altaïr silently vowed to find a couple more blankets for the secret home away from home. This position was not unlike the one he and Malik used to take when they were having frustrating nights. They would then help each other deal with the insistent body part and relieve the distraction.

"Yes. I know how to deal with that now, and how to ignore it if I must. Or," Altaïr smirked remembering his stint of the desperate monk humping into a pillow in a covered roof garden as a way to evade archers. "Or, use it as part of a cover to deter those less comfortable with the perfectly natural desires of the body." He could not hold back a small chuckle.

"What did you do? You're laughing. Was it funny?"

"It was. I was running from archers. They kept confusing me with the monks. I got almost cornered and hid in a covered roof garden full of soft pillows. So, I helped myself. They were horrified and ran away." Altaïr's little anecdote had Naheem laughing now.

"Never be upset if your body stiffens like that. It just wants to learn how to be a man. It wants to be touched and uh…to move and… and stuff." Altaïr thought his explanation sounded totally insufficient. He really was terrible with words. "If it happens again, I'll show you what to do. Now try to sleep, Novice Naheem." Actions, however, he knew he was good at.

Sleep may have come to Naheem, but not to Altaïr. He kept thinking back to Malik, how Malik had rejected him a little while ago. He had only wanted to help, to do what he thought was alright. It used to be alright. Maybe it would be alright with Naheem. He would only be helping after all. It is what a mentor does. The tiniest thrill went through Altaïr at the thoughts. He had never really been the one in control like this with apprentices under him, nor the one in control and with more sexual experience. He promised himself he would be a good teacher. He would try to be less like Al Mualim and more like Malik. He would not force the teen, but help him discover and enjoy if he is willing.

He listened for a while to an archer's footsteps across the church roof till they faded. Closing his eyes, he thought back to his first time with a random erection and how Malik helped him with it.

"_Calm down, Altaïr. You are not going to die." Malik tried to reassure the novice only a couple years younger than he._

"_But it won't go down! It's like a tent pole in my pants! Malik! You are the doctor, make it go away!" Altaïr stressed in the morning. They had training in an hour and this was a confusing inconvenience._

"_You aren't sick or anything. You don't need me to be a doctor for you for this. Every boy goes through it. It is your body telling you it is getting ready to be a man… a real man." Those were more interesting words you a youth who wanted to be a man and not a child._

"_What do I do? How to I make it go away? I can't go into practice like this!"_

_Malik motioned Altaïr to come sit with him. This was not unusual. Altaïr often slept with Malik when he had nightmares. Malik was his comfort and his anchor. Malik always made things right, even the scariest till he could go on dealing with the scarier. They sat with Malik leaning against the wall and Altaïr sitting between his legs, back pressed into Malik's chest. Those arms held him tight, held him close. They were not yet dressed for training and their skin stuck a little with the sweat. Malik reached over for a cloth and the salve._

"_I thought you said I was not sick!" Panic laced an early cracking voice._

"_Ever wonder why we have to keep a cloth in our belt pouches? And salve?" Malik queried. "Yes, for washing and for stopping bleeding and doing some healing, but also for this. This is natural. All humans feel it. I'm going to show you how to deal with it. I'll help you this time, but next time, you are on your own, novice."_

_Altaïr Malik had placed his hands over Altaïr's and guided him on how to explore his own body. Malik guided him on how to complete the erection and take it to release. The cloth coated in salve made a slick covering and prevented chaffing, but was also easy to clean after. For several years after that moment, they would help each other, a relationship of very deep friendship had grown, trust, love._

Altaïr found himself in a predicament. He tried not to move to worsen his state. He huffed a few times causing Naheem's hair by his ear to move. Naheem stirred in his sleep. Altaïr ground his teeth together and too slower deeper breaths trying to think about anything else, training moves, killing Templars, Malik throwing books. That only lead to Malik bathing and he was back where he started.

The sun started to dapple through the broken windows. As the sun tickled Naheem's eyelids, he woke and stretched. Altaïr immediately shoved the teen a little. "I need to take care of some things. Stay here." Naheem didn't even get to say good morning before Altaïr was gone like an eagle eager for flight.

Altaïr dealt with himself. He didn't want an inexperienced hand touching him. He hadn't shown Naheem how to handle this yet. Maybe tomorrow night.

* * *

A/N #2 – twisted training leads to twisted logic and twisted justifications


	114. Chapter 114: Deviant Malik

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – lonely bored Malik…

* * *

Altaïr dealt with himself. He didn't want an inexperienced hand touching him. He hadn't shown Naheem how to handle this yet. Maybe tomorrow night.

Malik had the quietest morning ever. No Naheem needing treatment. No Altaïr to worry over. No invading anyone. He lit fresh incense, sipped mint tea, enjoyed an undisturbed breakfast, and worked on a map. By noon he was banging the books just for some noise and pacing out of boredom. He even took up time with some sword training till that bored him. He regretted telling Naheem and Altaïr to go into hiding for two whole days.

He set out the open for business flag to hopefully occupy his day. When the door creaked open, he nearly cheered. He smiled for the newcomer and greeted him pleasantly. The greeting fell short and incomplete as his smile instantly faded.

The young guard stood awkwardly in the entrance alone with no Tibah. "Master scribe, sir? Can you please… I am sorry… I should not plague you with… you have already done so much."

"It is alright Kadar. How is your friend? Need me to come by?" Malik asked already know that he was needed.

"Would you please? Abby… Abdul has fevered."

Malik gathered some things he might need. Kadar escorted him like a good quiet wary guard; hand always on his sword hilt. In the estate, Malik was greeted by another man and his wife, Tibah's eldest sister and her husband. They were none too pleased by the forbidden lover on the premises, but did not voice their embarrassment too much. Malik soon realized that They and Tibah were off to the market to open the stall for the afternoon, having already lost the morning to Tibah's refusal to leave until Kadar returned with help. Tibah wanted badly to stay, but her eldest sister dragged her off.

Malik checked on poor Abby. He pressed his hand to the young man's brow and took his wrist to count his pulse. With Kadar's help, Malik inspected each wound. They were healing well, but the fever was still worrisome. He prescribed a medicine that Tibah would know how to make. "He is healing Kadar, this is just part of the process. Has he been eating? Drinking? Good." Kadar and Tibah had been taking good care. Kadar was simply being overly worried for his lover. "Try to cool the fever. Cool damp cloths on these places will help bring the fever down."

Malik understood too well the distress of this young man. He felt it himself every time Altaïr showed up in the Bureau wounded. He felt it tenfold when Altaïr was on missions in other cities. "Tell me about Abby."

Kadar was too serious for someone of sixteen, more serious than Malik's brother Kadar ever had been, but he loved just as deeply. "Abby is… different. His father is the regent's accountant, or was. There is a new regent now and Abby's father is settling into the new position. Abby was always different. Little like a woman, little like a man," Kadar whispered his next comment, "He's both in body… his father threatened to kill him if he ever told anyone."

Malik's eyebrows shot up and he turned to check the fevered young man. Truly, Kadar was right. "People like this are called hermaphrodites. Some cultures regard them as the most sacred beings for they will understand the needs of both genders. You are a very lucky man to love someone so rare and beautiful."

Kadar relaxed to hear this. "I do love him. Very much. Even if he is older. Especially because he is different. Please… don't tell anyone."

"I won't. You have my silence. I need to get back though. Come by my business and let me know when he wakes and speaks. I would like to speak with you both." Malik patted Kadar's shoulder. "And let me know as soon as your father is home. He and I have much business to discuss.

"Oh! The strange crate? It is already here. My father is coming in a couple days with the remainder of his supplies," Kadar informed Malik. I'll bring it by when I come with my news of Abby. Tibah wanted to see you, too. She is such…"

Malik gave him a warning look, "You no longer have any right to criticize your sister's indiscretions. He lives because of her. You owe her much." Kadar lowered his eyes in shame. "She did very well assisting me. I am not offended by her boldness and will welcome her visit."

"Really?" Kadar's eyes lit up.

Malik found his way home, no not home, back to the Bureau. It was still empty of Altaïr and Naheem. He knew he should not be encouraging compromising relations with Tibah's family. If he had his way, he's take them all to Masyaf to make them safe. Except… A traitor lurked there still. Also, how different would Masyaf be really? Women were still forbidden from most professions and same sex relations still disturbed people. Malik grunted with annoyance and slammed down a book for good measure.

His open door still did not encourage people in today. The days often progressed this way. He had learned to make himself busy. It was just so hard right now knowing Altaïr and Naheem were in the city and not here and not even on mission. He wanted to be out seeking Nina himself. He wanted to do something. He had not told anyone at that meeting, not that hunter about his possible sighting of Nina. He probably should have. When the first informant comes in, he will tell him. That was the right thing to do.

So why was Malik locking the door and walking down the street? The need to know had grown too strong. Maybe Altaïr was rubbing off on him. Several times he considered turning back, just to not be like Altaïr. He found nothing. When a group of thugs watched his passage and started to follow him, he made his way back before they could catch up to him.

Inside the Bureau he raged, "I AM NOT A CRIPPLE! I AM … I am an assassin…" He remembered to lower his voice in time.

He sat upon a stool and fiddled with a measuring tool over a map for hours till that too got tossed across the room. He wondered what his two novices were up to, and no, he was not considering Junayd.

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A/N #2 – my muse has me thinking ten chapters ahead… I wish I could write them all fast enough to catch up to my muse.


	115. Chapter 115: Altair: YAOI Lessons

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – There is a YAOI steamy scene in here… I upset the older black Christian woman on the bus seat next to me when I was typing it. People ought not read over other people's shoulders. Anyways… **WARNING YOU**… there be some hawt touching (Altair age 25-27 ish… Naheem age 15).

* * *

He sat upon a stool and fiddled with a measuring tool over a map for hours till that too got tossed across the room. He wondered what his two novices were up to, and no, he was not considering Junayd.

Naheem sighed with his own boredom. He had been ordered to stay put while Altaïr went off to deal with things. He nibbled some of the food he had brought and considered whether it would last much longer. He limped around the ruined church till he found a place suitable for human waste. The church was truly a ruin. Many windows were boarded up, most wood items within had already been stolen for firewood or furnishing. Naheem leaned on the wall as he walked slowly back and climbed the stairs again to their hiding place on the second floor.

He thought about what Altaïr had said last night about natural things and becoming a man. Naheem sometimes felt like a permanent boy, but knew as his father had said that he would one day catch up and likely all of a sudden. Maybe this is what he had meant? He missed his father and found himself weeping in the lonely darkness. Naheem scrubbed his eyes and told himself that assassins do not fuss like this. The dead are dead and we do them no justice by crying selfishly for them. He touched his heart and his head to remind him of Altaïr words. He wondered who Altaïr had lost.

Then Naheem remembered the hunter who had come with news of Altaïr's wives. He knew he was not supposed to have heard that conversation. He knew he likely was not supposed to say anything to Altaïr and Altaïr had not asked. But was it right to keep that news from Altaïr. His first wife was confirmed dead and his second was a traitor in this city with his child somewhere. This moral quandary filled his thoughts for a long while till his stomach protested greatly for more substantial food. Naheem concluded that it was not his place to tell Altaïr. Master Malik would handle that.

While he waited, Naheem found a decent wooden post to practice throwing knives at. They thunked neatly in a group with only one bouncing to the ground. He limped over to collect them and back to his place. Judging that maybe he could achieve accuracy from farther away, he tested himself. Two knives so far stuck true to the wood post. He aimed with a third. Movement in the shadow caught the corner of his eye. He turned and threw the little knife with almost deadly accuracy. It sparked off armour and flew wide in the ricochet. He readies his last.

"Good aim, Novice Naheem. However, aim higher, most guards have stronger armour to protect the soft organs and less about the head and shoulders, especially roof archers.

Naheem stammered out an apology, "Master Altaïr. I am so sorry!"

"Eat." Altaïr ignored the apology at first and shoved food into the teen's hands. "You are not sorry and should not be. If I were an intruder, I want you only to be sorry your aim was low enough to be deflected." Altaïr collected the throwing knives while Naheem inhaled the food like a starved teen.

Altaïr gashed an X with his dagger from his back into the post at a better height. They practiced together after lunch. Altaïr showed Naheem how to stand with better balance on his leg. "When wounded, and it happens on missions, distribute your weight like this. There. Now you take the strain off the leg and save yourself for a run you might have to make after. Throw from there." Altaïr backed away to let Naheem practice and retrieved the thrown knives for him.

Altaïr scouted outside a little ensuring their safety in the later afternoon while Naheem did some of the muscle working exercises Malik had taught him. Dinner did not look so appetizing. Altaïr seemed to be an indiscriminate eater. Naheem figured it was brutal training for when he might one day have to fend for himself on missions. He choked down the stale break and fuzzy cheese. At least he cut the fuzz off. They washed it down with pilfered wine that Altaïr watered considerably. Altaïr had no intentions of repeating the debacle of drunkenness. Malik would never forgive him.

Some early evening tumbling proved clumsy. Altaïr had to demonstrate over and over how to roll, how to dive, how to land in ways to ease the strain of an injured leg. Naheem struggled and pounded the ground with a fist like a child in a temper tantrum. Altaïr crossed his arms and stared down at him, golden eyes pinning Naheem to the floor. "The ground does not hit back and cannot be softened or weakened by your striking it. Get up and do this again." Naheem couldn't tell if Altaïr was making a joke or not. Maybe he was, but Naheem was too frustrated to find it funny.

He flopped in mouldy hay to relax while Altaïr ran off to hunt for more blankets. He returned an hour or so later with two blankets, a handful of rags and a few jugs of water. They both stripped down and washed carefully. They sat as they had the night before for warmth and Altaïr quizzed Naheem on the weapons of an assassin, since Altaïr's were laid out beside them neatly. It was relaxing on the body while working the mind.

"When will I learn to use a wrist blade?" asked Naheem.

"After you learn unarmed combat… And after you can stand and roll and fall with your injury." Altaïr heard and felt Naheem groan all deflated. "You are almost there. We'll practice again tomorrow." Altaïr leaned with some adjustments back against the pillar so Naheem could lean back into his chest again. The combined body heat under good blankets allowed them to stay warm while their clothes dried over a railing.

Altaïr reached and pulled their belt pouches closer so he could get into them. "Show me your leg. We should rub the salve into it."

Naheem pulled the blanket back to expose his leg and the terrible stitched wound. The wound was well closed and the stitches held firm. The wound swelled a little from working the leg today. Goosebumps rose up his leg from the cold night air. He led the cloths while Altaïr dabbed gooey salve over the stitches. Naheem hissed as Altaïr rubbed the salve around the wound. Altaïr took one of the cloths from Naheem's tense fingers and wiped the excess off. Naheem relaxed against Altaïr trying to use the breathing technique to shunt the pain to his hands. Something in that salve tingled and soon numbed the wound. "AAH! I can't feel…" The rest of his words were muffled by Altaïr's hand. They froze in position for many long minutes to be sure Naheem's yell had not alerted anyone outside.

Altaïr eyed that jar of salve and tucked it away. He did not want to accidentally mix it up with his pocket salve. He too felt the tingling already in his fingers and the light numbness, despite wiping it off as thoroughly as he could. He wriggled his fingers to be sure he had not lost total mobility. Satisfied he leans back again, arms around the teen and tossing the blanket edge back over Naheem's leg. "Never cry out again. Or I won't need to slit your throat to silence you, the arrows in you will do the job well enough." Naheem would have thought Altaïr was being cruel with his warning, except he still held Naheem and a firm embrace that felt more protective than anything else it could possibly be. Naheem apologized. "You must learn to bite your lip or something. I don't want you dying on missions if you are surprised." Altaïr felt the boy nod.

Altaïr moved his hand to over each of Naheem's thighs. "Move your toes and feet of each foot." Naheem did with great relief that he could still do so. "The muscles are still moving even if you feel little in the thigh."

Naheem swallowed loudly and bit his lip. Color rose in blotches on his cheeks. He knew Altaïr's words were meant to reassure him, but his hands somehow made his private member shift and stiffen. He let out a little strangled whimper. This month prior to his injury had been the start of so many random changes and discomforts. "Master Altaïr? Are you sure this is… normal?" He tried very hard not to move.

"Of course it is normal. Malik would not have prescribed the salve for your leg otherwise." Altaïr had missed the point. A glance down over Naheem's shoulder however made the point rather clear. "Oh… I see." He dredged up the memory he had last night of Malik and tried to sound as smooth, "You got a cloth in your belt pouch and a little salve. They are for washing, healing and dealing with … this." _That came out not so badly, didn't it?_

Altaïr dug his hand through the belt pouched for a little bottle of salve and pried another cloth from Naheem's stressed fingers. "Watch and learn, Novice. I will help you this time, but next time you are on your own. Don't spoil Malik's cushions." Naheem clearly didn't understand. _That did not come out so smooth._ Well, Altaïr was better and actions than speeches. He smoothed some salve on one side of the cloth and under the blanket he placed it over Naheem's insistent erection. The teen jumped. "Easy, breathe. You will be fine. This likely wonb't take long, you are young. It takes longer when you are older sometimes and can be messier when you spill your seed. Put your hands over mine and follow."

Altaïr took in a deep breath and maintained a steady rhythm till Naheem matched it and rested his hands over Altaïr's. "Will you trust me?"

"Yes, Master Altaïr," Naheem breathed out. He wanted this over with. His body was being rude and he was willing to do anything to make it obey him. "I trust you."

Altaïr pressed his left hand to Naheem's chest and hugged Naheem to him. "Some parts are more sensitive than others, you can used them to hasten things along." He brushed a thumb across Naheem's nipple causing the youth to gasp. "Breathe…" he repeated it and encouraged Naheem to do so for himself. Naheem experimented in this safe place with his mentor. Altaïr deep even breathing always helped him refocus and match again. "Do you feel ok?" Naheem could only utter a noise for his affirmative. His right hand gripped Altaïr's right hand very tightly. "Relax your hands, it you grip your stiff manhood with that kind of hold, it will hurt." Naheem immediately released Altaïr's right hand. "This is my hand, when you feel ready, take over." Altaïr breathed softly his instructions in Naheem's ear as he wrapped his fingers around the hardened shaft.

Naheem groaned gripping Altaïr's left hand against a heart pounding chest. Altaïr masterfully stroked the teen over the slick cloth. "Is this good?" Naheem's eyes fluttered shut and his breathing quickened. Altaïr licked his own lips and tried not to let this arouse him too much. That is impossible. Altaïr found them a rhythm that Naheem could manage. Altaïr released the teen's member to find a cloth for himself in case things went that way, which they were swiftly. He did not want to leave a mess on Naheem's lower back.

"Is this wrong? Did I do …"

"No, this is right. You are doing fine. I just ended up in the same predicament." He shoved a cloth between them then guided Naheem's hand. "Find a rhythm, Naheem. Match me." Altaïr breathed in and rocked his hips. His hand over Naheem's guiding an up stroke. He breathed out and rocked back, guiding Naheem's hands in a down stroke. "That's good. That's real good."

Naheem thought in his mind that maybe this was really not right, but it sure felt amazing. They moved and rocked like this till Naheem's breathing started to hitch and catch. The rhythm was lost in a moment. Altaïr clamped his hand over Naheem's mouth again to prevent the uncontrolled yell from his release. Naheem tensed from head to toe and twitched a couple times, toes curling tightly. Soon he was panting and gulping air as Altaïr uncovered his mouth. Naheem sagged back against Altaïr.

Altaïr wished it had not happened so soon, he was a long way off from his own release. He breathed slowly forcing calm through his body. "And so you release. You will have to wash that cloth later." Altaïr tossed it aside as Naheem still felt like he had jelly for limbs. "You can do this for yourself just… try to muffle your noises. You don't want to be discovered. This kind of activity is no one's business but those involved." Naheem's breathing slowed almost to normal. "With some practice, you will know the threshold, like when you leap from a building or a high point. You will know that moment approaching and will be able to decide to take that leap or not. That is the beginning of control."

"Who taught you this? You mentor?"

Altaïr shuddered at the thoughts of Al Mualim. That killed his mood instantly. "No." He could have said more but he was not prepared to face that reality.

"You father?"

"My father was killed with I was very young." It was a logical question for Altaïr. Naheem's father would have instructed him about sex and being a man, so why wouldn't Altaïr's. "I learned from Malik."

"Is Malik your… lover?"

Altaïr's silence stretch for many minutes. Naheem felt his mentor grow tense. "No," Altaïr finally answered. "Malik and I are… nothing." The words fell thickly.

Naheem took hold of Altaïr's hands and pulled his arms around him. "Thank you for teaching me, Master Altaïr. For what it is worth, I don't think you and Master Malik are nothing. You respect each other too much." _And argue like a married couple._

_

* * *

_

A/N #2 – Some en masse addressing of comments:

**LookieHippie** raised a concern about historical authenticity regarding the forbidden-ness of masturbating.

_The sacred books don't have anything particular on it. Christianity in the Middle Ages forbade it along with same sex relations. Judaism likewise forbade same sex relations. Depending on the strictness of your beliefs, you didn't even see your wife naked, not even for sex. Muslims have no stance on masturbation nor on same sex relations. The Arab tribes engaged in masturbation, privately and did have male concubines, but only the chosen wife may have inheritable sons irregardless of who the sheik prefers as a lover. The Brotherhood of Assassins are more like the Arab tribes in my fic, although members may choose to follow any religion they wish. And if I am right, Muslims then were permitted multiple wives (and may still be permitted). For interest sake, I take some liberties for a smexy fun fanfic._

**JustCoffee** raised the point of the interactions between Malik and his informants being one of trusted friendship and mutual respect.

_I take that from the game directly in that it is what Malik has. At the end of the game, Malik shows up to help Altair and states plainly that he has some men loyal just to him. Those would be the ones from Jerusalem that were not subjected to brainwashing._

Abdul (Abby) and Kadar will indeed have more later. Hermaphroditism will be a new concept for me to write about. I look forward to the challenge. And I am glad you like the extended OC's.

Should I do a couple chapters from the perspectives of the OC's… maybe tales of their backgrounds and/or current thoughts?


	116. Chapter 116: Malik Understands Too Well

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – For the sweet reminder… see this picture:

_http:/ doubleleaf .deviantart .com/art/halfnudeMalik-145658593_

_

* * *

_

Naheem took hold of Altaïr's hands and pulled his arms around him. "Thank you for teaching me, Master Altaïr. For what it is worth, I don't think you and Master Malik are nothing. You respect each other too much." _And argue like a married couple._

Malik awoke early again and had dreamed at Altaïr snuggled into his back. He turned over to the disappointment of nothing there. He berated himself for his dreaming. What were they really? Not much. Altaïr barely seemed to trust him, or tried overmuch to please him. Malik wanted to cuff him half the time, kill him a quarter of the time and hug him close the other quarter.

He stretched and worked out every muscle in the cool morning air. Knife exercises followed till he was sweating. He closed his eyes and moved his left arm as if it were there, working the muscles around the shoulder and down the upper arm to the point of amputation above the elbow. If he imagined the left hand moving as he moved the arm, it helped a great deal with the phantom pains that sometimes shot through him.

After a bath and breakfast, he looked over the map of Jerusalem trying to imagine where Nina might be hiding. He rolled it up and took out another map he was nearly done the filigrees on. That he would have to deliver today. The rest of his morning petered away in colored ink and tiny curly art in corners. He stretched his back and packed it all away, letting the map dry as he cut fruit and cheese for lunch. His eyes sliding to the open roofed room that showed dusty motes of sunlight but no Naheem or Altaïr.

He hoped they were alright.

When he returned from an uneventful journey to deliver the map, one of his informants was waiting for him. "Safety and peace, Brother. Have you news? Have you found anything out?"

"Safety and peace. I have not found Nina nor any blond woman, but had an idea." The informant had been the one mentoring Junayd, one of the old Dai's sons. "We could grid mark all women with children."

"That is a good idea, but I want her found before the hunter finds her." Malik weighed his trust of his informant knowing his next words could be misunderstood as traitorous. "I want to give a buffer and slow the hunter… for the baby's sake. We are assuming she has not dumped the child at some church." That was a good possibility, but then, why had she kept the child the child this long?

The informant did know one piece of news that was useful. He knew where the hunter was. Malik asked him to keep an eye on the hunter… let the hunter be the hunted. Discreetly this informant would watch for Nina but also keep track of the hunter. Malik needed to buy time to figure out why Nina was here and what the hell was actually going on. He didn't mind the sanction on her life. He more than supported the idea and even somewhat wished he has that assignment. However, Altaïr's child changed everything. Malik wondered if it was a girl or a boy. He hoped it was a boy.

As the sun set, he concluded that Altaïr and Naheem should be returning sometime the next day. He cleaned throwing knives and inspected the care of Junayd's. Satisfied, he packed them away in the supply trunk. Tomorrow would be a training day for identifying the parts of a long knife and how to stand and hold it, maybe some simple swings. This helped keep Malik busy. The moments between duties dragged and he paced again in his boredom. He ranted and vented a variety of frustrations to the walls to get them off his chest before he finally sat to read more of the chaos of Altaïr's journal.

Each of his kills came with messages. These cryptic messages both bluntly exposed truths about this war and secretly hid in code other things. Threaded through were wise and equally cryptic messages and bits of conversation with Al Mualim. Malik could not put his finger on it. He read through quickly and stopped. He flipped back a couple pages to reread some lines that did not fit with everything, not then anything really fit with anything else.

… _I think he was pleased… Bliss was brief… It was a lesson over Jerusalem… Or was it a punishment… I was on the shore with Malik in soft green grass for a moment till the desk bit my hip and I was blinded by bliss. It will never be Malik… He makes sure of that. I must kill more in Damascus and Acre. Pleasure and pain… nothingness. I am still nothing…_

Malik read it again then slammed the book shut and ground his teeth. Altaïr still allowed himself to be subjected to this. _WHY?_ Malik supposed Altaïr knew nothing else or maybe the guilt of things has weighed him down and the stripping of his rank took more from him than Malik imagined. Unraveling the chaos of Altaïr's thoughts taxed Malik's patience, if only because he came across moments like that. Altaïr mastered shunting his pain into some unknown bottle within. Malik wondered how long it would be before Altaïr snapped. He wondered what outlets Altaïr took, if any. He wondered how the abuses would manifest, how Altaïr justified them. On second thought, Malik didn't really want to know. He supposed that having access to this insanity within the journal was the closest to trust he could expect. Anyone else would have concluded Altaïr was a rabid animal and have him put down before he rose up and attacked his own.

Malik's brows knit close, "That is exactly it. He is a rabid animal, wounded and mad. He was rising up and about to take down his own. Did in some ways… And by stripping him down, Al Mualim ensured control where Altaïr lacked it." Malik did not approve of the methods, they were old barbaric methods. Then again, Al Mualim was old.

Malik had begun to understand how Altaïr had become the arrogant ass he was. He learned why and felt deeply guilty for doubting their friendship, for letting his own jealousy cause him to miss how Altaïr had protected him. Altaïr was such a different man now. Older, more mature, cynical, broken inside in ways Malik was not sure he could heal. He needed to either be able to reach in and heal or Altaïr needs to reach out for that healing. Neither seemed possible at the moment.

* * *

A/N #2 – Soo… should Nina come into the story directly before Altaïr goes off to Acre on mission, or after?


	117. Chapter 117: Altair and Naheem's Secrets

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Sorry about the chapter glitches. I think I got it all sorted out.

A/N #2 – Some solo and some Yaoi… be warned! Teens are HORNY! Can Altaïr keep up?

* * *

Altaïr was such a different man now. Older, more mature, cynical, broken inside in ways Malik was not sure he could heal. He needed to either be able to reach in and heal or Altaïr needed to reach out for that healing. Neither seemed possible at the moment.

It never failed that Altaïr would have a night terror at some point and wake in a sweat, hugging Naheem to him fiercely and nearly weeping into the back of the teen's shoulder. "Master Altaïr?" Naheem mumbled not really away. After a few breaths, Naheem was already asleep and Altaïr very awake. He raised a hand in the air just to make sure it was not covered in blood. Naheem was fine. Malik was not here bleeding to death. Kadar was not a corpse in the hands of a laughing Robert. Altaïr was glad the weapons were beside them as they slept or he mind have released the hidden blade into Naheem before realizing. He drifted back to sleep more easily after listening to the silence of the night for perhaps an hour.

Naheem woke stiff and squirming. He bit his lip trying to muffle himself as he understood this feeling now and assessed whether it would just go away on its own or if he needed to do as Altaïr had instructed and deal with it. The first time it happened in the night, Naheem ignored it and it went away. The second time there was no ignoring it. He had already touched himself in his sleep and was well in need when he woke. He bit his knuckles trying to be very still, wondering if he had woken Altaïr. The position he sat in helped his leg remain outstretched, and was very comfortable leaning into Altaïr's chest without the armour. Altaïr's hands lay lax on either side, fingers twitching in his sleep. Phew! The excitement rose within him more as he wondered if he could do this without waking the assassin.

He turned his head and felt Altaïr's breath on his cheek. A shiver tickled his spine. He reached ever so painfully slowly for the rag and little jar of salve from his belt pouch, pulling them under the blankets and between his legs. His heart pounded fast with his breath. He licked his lips, curious. Can he really do this? Would it be just as amazing? He wanted to try, to experiment. He thought maybe he should get up and go elsewhere for this, but he was comfortable and it was ok last time he did this here with Altaïr's help.

He nibbled his lips as he stuck both hand up under his to brush and tease his nipples as Altaïr had shown him the night before. His breath caught several times as tingling jumps raced down to his loins. He reveled in that new feeling. He carefully lifted his ankle over Altaïr's to give himself some space between his own legs and prevent himself from bending his leg up and straining his stitches. He fiddled with the jar almost frustrated till the cork came out and he could dip fingers into the salve. He slip those fingers under his loosened pants with a small gasp, stuffing some blanket in his mouth to keep himself quiet. The cloth soon followed the route of the fingers and he stroked and shifted and rocked, never noticing the stiffness about to poke into his lower back till Altaïr himself shifted with him and then gripped his hips.

"I said private… Novice, you woke me."

Naheem gulped. He was caught completely off guard. "I'm sorry, Master Altaïr. I tried to be quiet."

"We finish this together then, since you got me started."

When it was over and both lay back limp against the post, the goofiest grin claimed Naheem's face. Altaïr was a master at stretching it out and showing him how to recognize that pressuring moment before release. It was intense, exhilarating, completely satisfying. What also satisfied Naheem was this guilty little pleasure that in the process he managed to turn his master to total much behind him. It didn't change his personal interest in girls. But this certainly had a unique place in acceptable. Altaïr insisted he keep this private, it was no one's business. What goes on in one's pants or under one's blanket is no one's business. He understood. The great Altaïr did this, so it was alright, especially if the great Altaïr had learned it from the great Malik.

Later in the morning when Naheem woke again aroused, Altaïr shoved him off to figure it out on his own. Altaïr complained about youth always being up and he wanted to sleep. Naheem managed on his own elsewhere. He came and settled back between Altaïr's legs again. Altaïr tucked the blankets about them both. "Think we can get at least a few hours of sleep?"

Naheem tried not to snicker as he nodded. "Master? What is it like to be with a woman?"

Altaïr sighed. He guessed he was not getting sleep tonight after all. He thought to Nina and to Adha and tried to strip their personalities away from the experiences. "They touch all over and it is like fire under the skin. Good fire. They are wet and slick and tight inside so you don't need salve. It feels real good, maybe like a moment of bliss. Sweet."

"And," Naheem dared to venture, "With a man?"

Altaïr tensed. It took some time to sort the chaos of his thoughts that rose unbidden. "Different. Also tight. You need salve though or you hurt each other badly. It is a different kind of bliss, white hot and intense. I have not much experience either way, though."

Naheem quieted while he digested this information. "Isn't it wrong though? For men?"

"Tscha! Only by some ignorant asses in charge of ignorant religious views and have not actually studied their religious books enough to know none of the religions expressly forbid it." Altaïr had strong opinions about the various religions and religious leaders. He hated the narrow-mindedness. He hated the limiting of freedoms and choices. He hated the enforced control. This was part of why Altaïr did not identify with any religion and openly would call himself an atheist or maybe agnostic. He had to admit there must be… something. That fog and the weird incidents were not nothing. They were definitely something.

"Have you and Malik?"

Naheem was cut off with a small cuffing in the back of the head. "What did I tell you about private? If you were not involved then it is none of your business."

"Sorry!"

Since he was not getting any more sleep, Altaïr pulled Naheem to his feet and started him on training. It was long and hard and Altaïr was relentless till Naheem either got it or dropped with exhaustion. The upside was that Altaïr snuck out and returned with food and, after repeated trips, washing water. Naheem laid back on the blankets while Altaïr rubbed out the aching from his legs.

Naheem had learned to roll, to fall, to land, to jump. He even learned a little combat. He earned a good deal of bruises on his back to which Altaïr explained, "better bruises than dead." All Naheem wanted now was to lay back and not move while the evening air cooled burning muscles.

"AARGH! In the name of all that is holy!" Naheem exclaimed at the hardening member between his legs while Altaïr rubbed the salve into the wound. Altaïr handed the teen a rag and told him to muffle his voice. When the rag was over Naheem's mouth, Altaïr dropped another one soaked in the by now cold water onto the rude body part. Naheem recoiled, yelling into the rag. Then he threw both at Altaïr.

Altaïr wondered over and over if he was like this when he was this age. Did he have urges this often? All Naheem seemed to need was a small breeze across it for an erection to occur. Naheem groaned totally annoyed and thumped his head a few times on the blankets. "I can't even dream about what it is like with a girl. I've never seen one without clothes and sure don't know what it is like to be in one." He tried to smother himself with his red sash.

"Do you really want to know what it is like?"

Naheem quirked a silly grin, "You can't just steal one and make them do it. I mean I guess you can, but you really shouldn't. Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent. It applies to this too, no?"

"I have my secrets," Altaïr's face remained mysteriously devoid of expression. Would it be so wrong to show this boy what it was like? It would be a way to use what AL Mualim made him do by force and apply it by choice, making it right. Only if Naheem wanted it, though. Altaïr would never force him.

Forbidden curiosity lit Naheem's eyes. It reminded him of Malik. "I want to know," Naheem breathed excitedly.

Altaïr nodded agreement. However, knowing that the teen already had a preference for girls insisted on his secret method remaining secret and blindfolded Naheem with the sash. This was something Altaïr had once wanted to do with Malik and was sure he never would now. The blindfolded teen clenched his fists in the blankets in anticipation. Altaïr leaned over, his hot moist mouth taking in Naheem's stiff erection. Naheem gasped loudly in surprise and followed it with a moan. Altaïr moved slowly as he sorted out the anxieties that crept within him, shoving aside the memories of Al Mualim. This was not Al Mualim, but Naheem and he was giving him a gift of sorts. When Naheem's breathing and rhythm became erratic, Altaïr backed off and replaced his mouth with a salved cloth, instructing Naheem to finish off and clean up.

Altaïr was scarce when Naheem finally sat up and lifted the blindfold. He wondered if maybe Altaïr wandered off to deal with himself. He walked around the upper level leaning on the walls or the railing and avoiding the broken wooden stairs. The darkness made it hard to see. He searched upwards with his eyes. Altaïr almost always scouted ledges and other high places. Then his eyes caught a white clad form below. He froze a moment unsure who it might be. Squinting in the dimness, he knew. Altaïr. He frowned watching his mentor quietly weeping against a wall and wondered why. He knew he was not meant to see that moment and turned away to grant his mentor privacy. He curled up alone and left a blanket beside him for Altaïr.

Altaïr woke him in the morning to drill him one last time on rolling and moving and fighting with his injured leg. Without breakfast, they made their way out onto the roof. Naheem blinked and stumbled and had to just stand a few minutes in the sun for his eyes to adjust from the darkness of the ruined church interior. They made their way toward the Bureau on roof tops. Altaïr taking out roof arches when they encountered them. Naheem made a one-legged leap and landed with a hard roll on the next roof. It didn't hurt nearly as bad as he thought it would. Well, it woke his bruises, but didn't hurt his legs. He grinned at Altaïr who was on the next roof already and nodded approval back.

Naheem stood, leaning on the roof garden post as he limped his way to the next edge. He let out a surprised yell he tried to swiftly muffle as a guard stepped around the roof garden and also yelled in surprise back. The guard swung out his sword and Naheem fell onto his back to avoid it. The sword thrust down to impale Naheem and he rolled as taught onto his left knee and left hand with his right leg for balance. He pulled his knife free and made a right out and back to force the guard to move back a little. Pushing off his left hand for leverage, he was on his left foot now, right leg stepping back again for balance but not to take weight. The guard's sword narrowly missed him. He thought it actually cut his cheek, maybe it did. In the moment of closeness, Naheem swung again with his knife in a revers slash that caught deep under the chest mail and tore open the guard's belly. The man dropped clutching his innards helplessly. Naheem panted with the rush of adrenalin.

Altaïr hopped back. He had been ready to kill the guard, but allowed Naheem the chance to prove himself. "A belly wound can leave a man alive for hours. Offer him peace and send him to his god. Finish it Novice Naheem."

Naheem had never killed in such cold blood before. The thought formed a stone in his stomach. "I am sorry, sir. We all did our duties. I … I defended better is all. Safety and peace on your journey to God." The guard and Naheem stared at each other for almost a minute. Naheem's hands shook. Naheem looked up in the sky, "The… there are clouds today, they are really beautiful." The clouds blurred in Naheem's eyes. The guard looked up. Naheem slashed his throat. He dropped the knife, backed off and choked and vomited and cried.

Altaïr rubbed his back. "We always respect those we kill. We are not heartless bastards." Altaïr offered him some water from one of his belt canteens. They slowly made their way back to the Bureau in silence after that and thankfully with no further incident.

* * *

A/N #3 – Now back to our regularly scheduled assassins and away from the horny teens… for now.


	118. Chapter 118: Malik's Uneasy Release

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – And the Eagle has taken flight again.

* * *

Altaïr rubbed his back. "We always respect those we kill. We are not heartless bastards." Altaïr offered him some water from one of his belt canteens. They slowly made their way back to the Bureau in silence after that and thankfully with no further incident.

Malik heard the scuffling in the morning as he worked on his map. He stepped under the lattice in time to help Naheem land. The teen looked a little pale and greenish. He helped Naheem limp into the back and lay in the cooler shade with some cool mint tea. Some noise apparently caught Altaïr's attention as Malik watched him vanish from sight on the roof.

Tibah sat on the bench outside the Bureau with a couple people who helped pull a cart over with a large crate. Her brother standing as an ominous guard with his hand on his sword hilt. A shadowed pokes over the straight line the roof made on the ground. She observed it a few moments before turning to look up. A white hood disappeared. "What are you looking at, Tibah?" her brother asked her.

Tibah smiled, "Eagles… or maybe angels."

He shook his head. "Just knock. I don't want to be here all day. Father is coming home soon."

"And you are worried for your friend. I know." Tibah knocked on the door. She had no idea if anyone was there or if the rafiq would answer.

Altaïr dropped through the lattice, "Malik. Trouble is at the door." The knock was then heard within.

Malik regarded Altaïr as if it was his fault, especially after seeing an ill looking Naheem. Naheem recovered well with the tea though. "And what sort of trouble did you bring?"

Altaïr growled, "I did not bring this trouble… this is your trouble! It's that girl."

Malik stood corrected. Indeed this was his trouble and not Altaïr's. "Fine, strip Naheem of anything of the order and send get him out front, then stay hidden back there yourself.

"I told you…"

"And I said I would deal with her in my own way!"

Altaïr stormed into the back. Naheem was already frantically pulling off everything but his brown pants and grey shirt. With one crutch handed to him, Naheem stepped out. He had really expected Malik to throw something at Altaïr or them to yell at each other. Their yelled was in fierce hushed whispers, though. Altaïr threw himself on Malik's bed like a prisoner.

Malik pointed to a stool, "Sit behind the counter and study that map." Naheem did as he was directed while Malik went to the door to greet Tibah and her brother. His eyes widened at the sight of the large crate. "Oh my! Please bring this inside." Kadar and another person brought the crate in with grunts and heavy lifting. The dropped the crate out of the way of the door. Kadar then ordered the people to return the crate to the estate and thanked them for their help.

Naheem wished his leg were not injured. He would have lent a hand to the heavy work. He tried to keep his eyes down studying the map as Tibah entered. She carried a book with her wrapped in a veil. She had the most captivating liquid brown eyes that he could not look away. She tucked her veil under her chin and smiled prettily at him.

Malik joined Naheem behind the counter, "Miss Tibah, this is my nephew, Naheem. Raiders hit my brother's caravan last month and he arrived just a couple days ago. I suppose he will be stayed on with me from now on." The look the two teens gave each other was better than Malik had ever hoped. Naheem was quite good looking, even if he still had that innocent baby face in his cheeks. Tibah was a walking sin for men into women.

"Pleased to meet you rafiq, and Naheem. I do believe you greet with safety and peace. I wish them for you both." She set the veil covered book on the table. "I have finish what you gave me. I know it by heart."

"Naheem, take this into the back for me." Malik handed the book. "As you can see, Miss Tibah. I am in this small bind where I am obliged to already train an apprentice."

She sighed sadly as she watched the cute boy hobble with crutch and book through the fake wall into the back. "I… suppose…"

"How is Abdel healing? Your care must be helping greatly?" Malik asked both to know and to redirect the conversation.

She brightened, "Abby is doing much better! I made the medicine and it took his fever down. He sat up and ate on his own today." She glanced to the door where her brother waited just outside. "They are talking to each other a little. Abby is so very shy. He is nice though. I'm going to ask my father to take him on as our accountant. He has the best training and it would give him something to do. And then he and Kadar can stay together."

"You are incredibly understanding, Miss Tibah. I can only hope your father is as well." That would be the true test, wouldn't it.

"My father already knows of Kadar and Abby. And, well, love is love and that is not a sin." She lingered a moment before boldly pulling the topic back, "Please reconsider. I am a good student. I will make a very good apprentice. I can be very discreet." Malik raised a brow as she was hardly that at the moment. "Ok, maybe not right now, but I can be. Please… please."

Malik could already imagine the argument he will have with Altaïr later. Maybe being stuck here was making him soft. "I will speak with your father, but I doubt his answer will favour your wishes."

She gave a very adorable girlish squeal of joy before she turned to the door. "Oh… your eagle should be more careful of the shadows he casts. If he gets stuck outside again, let him know I will always be glad to offer him bread or fruit again." She left with her brother following in her wake. He did not berate her this time. He had no right to anymore.

Malik absorbed this shocking little bit of news on how dangerously observant she was. She saw Altaïr. He narrowed his eyes and tasted the little victory on his tongue. The great Altaïr had been seen, not once but twice. Twice outside and she knew him for the man she encountered inside. In some ways, this gave him something to argue back at Altaïr. In others ways, it only justified Altaïr statement of Tibah being a danger to the Brotherhood. Logic told Malik that they were compromised. There were rules to follow when compromised. Yet, if he played this right, then she could be a valuable asset and everyone can have what they want.

He locked the door after her. As he turned, he nearly walked into Altaïr to stood with hood drawn low and arms crossed. "Don't you dare say anything, Altaïr. You were the one she caught." Altaïr cursed and stormed off to the open air room. Malik followed. "She is observant. I get it that it makes her dangerous. But it also makes her useful."

"There are no women in the Brotherhood." Altaïr parroted the rule back.

Malik countered, "But one day, maybe there could be."

"Then why not just train Nina?"

Malik thought about the shot Altaïr threw at him. Nina seemed to be coming up a lot. It was time to get Altaïr out of Jerusalem before he found out about her. "Nina… Nina is a crazed bitch that should have been put down long before ever being married to you." He meant that honestly. Maybe it was Malik's jealousy that women got to marry men, that some women got to marry his Altaïr. Nina definitely did not deserve the great eagle.

"Tibah is different. And I said I will handle her."

Naheem hobbled into view, "She was pretty? Who is she really?"

Altaïr groaned with annoyance. "I'm packing. I have someone to kill in Acre." He remained snappish through his brief resupplying and almost as he left.

Malik stopped him with a hand on the chest. "Altaïr, be careful." Altaïr tensed at the uninvited contact. Malik did not back down. The hooded face turned away as usual. Yet, Altaïr raised his hand and covered Malik's, holding Malik's hand to his chest. The moment lasted not long enough for Malik. Altaïr fled out the roof opening a second later.

Malik put an arm over Naheem's shoulders and guided him back to the back room so his wound could be properly inspected and so Naheem could have a good bath, he smelled like he needed it. In that back, he updated Naheem on all that had been going on with Tibah and what her family represents, even the incident with Abby that Malik alone was privy to.

He sent a bird with a note to AL Mualim that Altaïr was healed enough and is on his way to Acre for his mission. He added his request to keep the "crippled" novice as his assistant here in the Bureau with the details of the boy's wound and a slightly skewed assessment of his healing.

Naheem was then handed a PILE of books to read and study from. He would be deeply educated by the time Malik was finished with him, and know enough of medicine to help the average assassin. His training would only have respites when he slept. It was the best Malik could do. He could not train Naheem as anything else at the moment.

Malik slept wondering how long before Altaïr returned… and if Altaïr would return.

* * *

A/N #3 – Here is a picture I found for a scene in this chapter.

http:/ hoshi-san .deviantart .com/art/2010-Safety-and-Peace-150162567


	119. Chapter 119: Tales of Informants

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Since Altaïr is off on mission, I thought I would let you see what is going on in the lives of some of the OC's you have grown to like in my fanfic. My OC list is Junayd, the old Dai, and the Informant son of the old Dai, the informant family with the little girl (whose name I have already forgotten), Tibah, Kadar and Abdel (Abby), Tibah's father, Naheem, Nina.

* * *

Malik slept wondering how long before Altaïr returned… and if Altaïr would return. The month was fraught with busy training and stretches of deadly boredom. Malik would have to wait nearly two months almost three before seeing Altaïr again. Missions were like that. Malik had a mission of his own, a few in fact. Train Junayd in blade work. Train Naheem as a rafiq and fill in some gaps so he could eventually train to be an assassin. Shame Malik didn't actually know what the training was for a rafiq. Sort out the chaos of Altaïr's journals. Track Nina before the hunter gets to her. Plan what to say to Tibah's father once the man arrived back in town. Malik actually had not been so busy all year! Any contracts to make maps or scribe scrolls, he conscripted Naheem to help. That was what an assistant was for after all.

**Tale of Junayd**

In older times, the age for a new novice was four. Take any child of four and train him and he is yours for life. The master just before Al Mualim changed that age to ten. Small children required too much care. Ten year olds were eager, smart, and competitive. They were tested rigorously for the first month and then placed in the best field of training: scholar, informant, rafiq, doctor, or assassin. Some trained in a couple fields.

Faruq was trained assassin and doctor. Malik was trained assassin and scholar, though he secretly squeezed in medical studies. Junayd was new. He was not brilliantly intellectual, so that ruled him out of scholar, doctor, and rafiq training. He was bold and witty with good ingenuity and a fearless streak which qualified him nicely for the training of an assassin. Although, he could have just as easily been trained as an informant spy. Informants, however, tended to be those who were poor at a kill or who had no stomach for it. That test was to watch someone be killed and then be willing to hide the body in a designated area. He would actually make an ideal hunter. Both fearless and curious with a good memory… and fast thinking in a bind.

The informant, son of the old Dai, walked with Junayd through some busy streets. They were scanning for both the hunter and Nina. Junayd tugged the informant's sleeve and cheered loudly, "Uncle! I'm gonna play over there!" and dashed off in the direction he pointed. "Be home for dinner!" the informant called back as he went in a different direction. Still keeping the hunter in view, he side glanced to see Junayd playing with a couple other kids almost beside a blond woman who tucked her locks back under her head scarf. He took off at a run in a new direction, pushing someone over. The hunter looked over the roof's edge and ran the same route figuring the informant spotted something he missed.

Junayd tumbled roughly, scraping his knee and dropping right in front of the blond woman. She frowned at him, "foolish child," turned on her heel and walked away swiftly.

The other boys he played with commented on how mean she was. Junay educated them on a new word, "bitch." It was one he had heard Malik use in reference to this woman. He was sure it was her, though the baby was not with her. He watched her till she was out of sight. He dabbed at his scraped knee, "I gotta go home and clean this. It hurts. Maybe I will pay here again tomorrow." He waved at them and headed home.

In his mind he figured she might frequent that area. She did not have the baby with her, so she would not have gone too far from wherever she was staying in case she had to get back to the baby soon. Dressing like a civilian with his green scarf was the smart choice of the day. She never suspected him as an informant. But then, who would suspect a child outside Masyaf? He reported his discovery to his informant mentor. That news would make its way back to Malik later. He beamed with pride.

Junayd had always hoped to be chosen to join the brotherhood. He was an orphan in Masyaf who got into far too much trouble because of his curiosity, and yet managed to always wiggle his way out of that trouble. He moved from foster home to foster home till he was ten and the last family begged the Brotherhood to consider the devious little brat who grinned angelically at them. The assassins were his heroes. Brave warriors off on a hunt. He wanted to be one of them.

Finally he was training as one! He was tested and assigned a mentor and a partner. His partner came down with an illness and died though. He broke into the library to look up a book on diseases and was dragged out by one of the scholars after sitting in a corner with a forbidden book on sacred treasures. His mentor was ordered to take the boy to field training in Jerusalem. The mentor protested that it was dangerous, but it was Al Mualim's will.

Here Junayd was now, in Jerusalem. His mentor had been shot through with arrows and the Great Eagle of Masyaf saved Junayd's life. Now he trained as an informant. It was not really his dream, but as the old Dai has said, "All assassins must first be good seekers of information. You don't just go in and make a kill. You must know everything there is to know about your target, so you kill swiftly and without mistakes. Informants are there to help the process of information gathering. But, sometimes you seek a target that is not in a city with a Bureau and informants. Master this role and then the next will come to you more easily."

It was good advice. He strove to be the best little informant he could be. His heart still set its goals on Altaïr. Oh to be that great assassin's apprentice. For now, he would train hard, learn as much as he could, become a master at the blade under Malik's tutelage. Later, he promised himself, later he would petition Altaïr if he must, use all his little charms to become his apprentice. He figured it would be easy. Altaïr already found him useful and intelligent.

He flopped on his bed and made shadow puppets of eagles flying before he blew out the candle.

**Tale of an Informant's Family**

Informants were generally by nature inquisitive, curious, quiet and observant. They ranged in their skills from those who spied in estates and castles like planted watchers, to those trained to read messages and decipher codes, to the watchers on the streets, to those planted to be aids for novices going solo, to those who track targets, to even those trained to make minor kills. Most assassins learned a little of the skills needed to find information, track a target, and understand the lay of a terrain or building. Some informants mastered the throwing knife and the hidden blade to be a secret killer in a crowd. Many simple were watchers and information gatherers.

Among those general informants, were several roles. They sometimes offered a variety of small services, like carrying supplies for people. Sometimes they managed stalls that offered beverages or foods to the public. Drink and food encouraged gossip. The informants were permitted to have their families with them wherever they were stationed. They only returned to Masyaf if they became compromised somehow. Some, like this one kept the message birds for the Dai of the city, raising the birds and breeding them as a family hobby. He roamed the city listening to the various conversations of people on the streets and reported once a week to the Dai.

His position here was the safest. He walked the city in different districts, sometimes he brought some young pigeons and decorative birds to the market or to people that he thought might be interested in them on various estates. At the end of the day, he returned to a wonderful, now pregnant, wife and his adorable little girl. She threw herself into his arms when he came home from "work" and made his day in the heat worth enduring.

Sitting up in the coup with her, they named all the birds over and over before her bed time. He believed every man should love like this and be loved like this at least once in their lives and preferable for the entirety of their lives. He also believed that every man should have a child, especially assassins. Children gave you meaning in life, gave you a reason to really fight for that safety and peace, and gave you a reason to live.

He kissed his little girl goodnight before cuddling the rest of the night with his wife, rubbing her not yet swelling belly. He hoped it would be a son this time, someone he could train in his footsteps.

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A/N #2 – **Quinn**: thanks for the criticism. Bored boys do stupid things sometimes. *looks over at the bored boys next door who think I don't know what they are doing against my livingroom wall on the other side.* Aside from that, those chapters were to set something up for later. I know they were not as smoothly written or believable… but I hope folks have some patience with it. I was fed up with it too by the end… needed to get the story rolling again.

A/N #3 – **Stormxx**: I have noted your agreement with Quinn, though I regard it with some salt as I know you are uncomfortable with any and all sex scenes. Please see the rating of this fic… it is M for Mature Content. If my content becomes too much of a problem, then I will remove the fic from FF and move it to AFF.

A/N #4 – To all of you noticing the glitch of the fic stopping at chapter 111… it is a glitch. I thought I fixed it. But it keeps recurring. I am sorry… it is not me and I don't know what to do about it.


	120. Chapter 120: Tale of Abby and Kadar

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – because I have been asked…

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**Tale of the Guard's Lover**

Kadar was the younger of two brothers scattered ten years apart amid an army of sisters. And now that his mother birthed a set of twin girls, that army just grew. His elder brother had learned their father's business trade while he took up the duty of being a guard for the family merchant stall in the city and the man of the house over many sisters when both father and eldest were away. Many of the elder sisters have married so he really only watched over his mother and the sisters closest to his age. Perhaps it was because of so many sisters that he had no real interest in women or girls.

Often he had asked his father in private if he could not marry, just stay with the family forever. His father reassured him that one day he would find love. His father was a very patient man and more understanding than perhaps many others in Jerusalem. Likely so because of his world trade of apothecary items and engagement with many cultures. They used to live in Acre till the Crusaders took over and disease plagued the streets. Now the father traveled there twice a year and once to a central market at some crossroads.

He had always told his sons that they may say or ask him anything and he promised to listen and help. When Kadar crossed paths with a famous accountant's son, he finally had to address issues he feared within himself and speak with his father. Kadar mumbled through his curiosity and interest in the accountant's son. He explained how they have crossed paths several times in the market and became friends. With dread and humiliation he confessed feelings for the young man.

It was a long serious talk about the rules of engagement, about the laws against such relationships, and thus the dangers. "I love Abby… We love each other! Allah does not forsake honest love… Does he?" His father slapped him like he would a small petulant child. "Father… You said I could say or ask you anything."

"I am not angry with you son. I am scared for you, scared for that young man, scared for the shame it will bring on both our families." A father's love is deep and his more understanding. He reassured his son of god's acceptance, but insisted on caution, for both their sakes. "Allah may accept and understand. I love you as my son anyways, but other people… they will not. If they suspected, Kadar, you or Abdel or both of you could be stoned to death. Do you understand?"

His words of caution and discretion were also due to who this other young man was. Abby, Abdel, was the son of the most prominent accountant in the city and head of the guild. The man was ruthless, dangerous and hungry for power. His pride was the only thing he cared for. He had ignored his wife and child in his climb up the social ladder. Only when his wife died in childbirth with her second child, did he finally see a use for his first born, now old enough to speak and reason with. The shy boy was trained with the ruler in numbering and accounting till he was almost as good as his father. His deeply shy nature ensured he would never be a threat to his father's position.

At the age of nineteen, almost twenty, he grew tall, but remained remarkably effeminate. No facial hair grew. He seemed almost androgynous with an almost girlish face. When his father discovered his hermaphroditism, he was beaten for the sin of lying and for being a shameful form. He was almost turned out of his house then, but his father had too much use of him and warned him that if he ever did anything womanly, he would stone him to death himself.

Being stoned was the most painful thing Abby had ever experienced or imagined he could experience. As he lay on the very cushioned cot, he choked on his emotions. His mother had loved him, despite his malformation of gender. She had called him a gift, she had been blessed with a son and daughter all in one, thought for his safety had raised him like a son. His father had been so proud to have a son and when he was old enough to train as his apprentice, the pride showed once more. He strove so hard for the tiny scraps of affection he could get from the man. Dragged like a ker to his father that night was more shameful. Listening to the recounting, however skewed, that he was caught kissing another man, engaging in sodomy as well. Not that they ever saw that, not that he ever tried yet. His father looked at him like he was a stranger. "I have no son, my children died with my wife." And he cast the first stone.

Abby tossed in stress, flinching from illusionary stones. Kadar took his hand, "Abby, my beautiful Abby." Abby opened his eyes to see young Kadar still dressed in his family guard uniform. The teen was always so handsome. "Abby? Do you remember when we first met?" Kadar asked shyly. "We were in the market and you dropped the accounting tools in front of my family stall. I fell in love with those silver green eyes right away." Abby wanted to speak but couldn't yet. He could only just barely eat. He was sure he was forever disfigured, yet this teen still found him beautiful. "I am so sorry, Abby. I let us take a risk and you got hurt. I promise, I will never let that happen again. I promise… I promise I will take good care of you. You are my family now… even if my father turns us out. You are my family now."

Abby sat up with help. Kadar moved to sit on the cot and help hold him up. "This world hates me… my kind… us…" Abby's words rolled hoarsely and slowly from a badly bruised mouth.

"I don't hate you. Neither does my sister Tibah, nor my father. Abby, I love you." Kadar reassured the man in gentle whispers. "I love you."

Tibah watched sadly from the hallway where she had paused with a basket of washing from the nursery. Her brother, though usually so quiet, was really so brave in her eyes. Even when he was being a pain in the behind about womanly propriety. She wondered if rafiq Malik was right, that there were places in the world that did not shun people like her brother and his lover. She liked to see Kadar sneaking cute blushing looks at Abby. She hoped to see them exchange such looks again someday, maybe once Abby was healed.

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A/N #2 – **anti-cat-candy**: People have tagged me to tell you that your art was incredible! I promised to pass the message along


	121. Chapter 121: Tales of Angels

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Sorry this has taken some time. I have been working a few days of 12+ hours. So my usual writing on public transit has been occupied by sleeping. Or… the bus had the audacity to be too full for me to sit with my laptop.

* * *

**Tibah's Tale**

Tibah, like many young women dream of marrying someone wonderful. Or at least dream of someone who will be good to them. She had had suitors before, had them since she was twelve and liked none of them or they were offended by her boldness and bossiness. She was grateful for her parents who did genuinely want to see her happy. Other girls got married off to the best match for the family regardless of how the girl felt. Tibah felt like she was on a time limit, though. She was already fifteen. Friends her age walked about with toddlers and she had none. It earned her looks of scorn from them.

She wished so badly that she were a man, then she could take over her father's business or run an apothecary on her own, or study to be a physician like she always wanted. She even cut her hair short and dressed like a boy one day to see if she could pass for one. Her bosom betrayed her and her mother ended up in tears for her wayward daughter. It broke Tibah's heart to see her mother cry. She covered her hair with a scarf now and showed no one. Her hair would grow back eventually.

Her bright brilliance earned her lessons from her mother and then from her father in the secrets of madding salves, tinctures and medicines of all kinds. She was very adept and made most of them herself now that her father was away and her mother had two tiny twin girls to attend to. Her elder sister who helped at the stall had a head full of fluff as far as Tibah was concerned. Her sister was twin to her brother Kadar, but Kadar clearly developed all the intelligence… mostly. AT least her sister, simple as she was, could handle simple sales, write orders, count if it were not too much and was a whiz with needles. There was a nice older man interested in her that their father was considering. Tibah approved, not that she really had any say in the matter. The man might be grey haired and her sister only sixteen, but he was nice and would care for her and her him. Her sister would outlive him, inherit nicely, return home and still be pretty enough to remarry. Older widows did not get scorned for being in their twenties with no husband.

She peaked in on Kadar and Abdel often and helped care for Abby when he was asleep or drugged against the pain. From helping with the many small surgeries, she knew Abby's forbidden secret of his dual gender state. She wanted to ask questions. She memorized that anatomy book trying to understand. The rafiq did not give her a chance to ask her questions. He didn't even test her knowledge, though she proved it in the surgery. He didn't even give her another book. That was just as well. It would be hard to explain to her father4 who was arriving very soon. One shock at a time, she supposed.

If she married the rafiq, it would be a good match. Married to him would allow her the chance to learn from him. He was such a secretive man it excited her. She had kept track of all the medicines he had ordered and realized correctly that he practiced as a doctor, though why he did not do it officially, she did not know. She had a good eye and good memory. She was careful about her surroundings and avoided the various troubles of the city, with her brother as back-up. She noticed all sorts of things about the people around her, but never knew what she ought to do with that information. Maybe it would come in handy one day. Her father had once said it was important to always be observant. She knew he sometimes kept a log of the odd things he saw, but never knew why. It was her father's secret. He explained it to her as, "Just an old habit from an old profession I am retired from." As if that satisfied her inquisitive little mind.

She really thought though, that she had perhaps offended the rafiq this time. He brushed her off so abruptly. Maybe his lover was around? He was always grumpy when the eagle was about. She was sure he was the eagle in her dreams. She dreamed of an eagle before each time she had seen him. There was the matter of the nephew. Maybe the rafiq was still grieving the death of his brother? His nephew was clearly wounded, maybe he was busy worrying about him? He was a very cute boy. At least he was willing to discuss something with her father. All she could do is wait. Wait and wonder like an abandoned wife. She left like one all the time.

She had to set aside those worries for now. She had a stall to ready, a mother with fragile twins to help, a brother's lover to help heal, and now with her sister's help a house to swiftly ready for their father's return. She mentioned to her sister about the rafiq's nephew since he kept coming up in her thoughts. They giggled and spoke of love.

**Tale of the Bureau's New Novice**

Naheem was sure his brain was going to burst and ooze out his ears. He studied the Dai handbook with Malik and stayed behind when Malik was off with the Old Dai to learn more and fill in gaps. His hands ached from writing and sketching, having taken up some of the slack from Malik for scribe and map work. Not that there was really a slack, but he had to show he was apprenticing as a scribe and map maker under his "Uncle Malik." By the end of a week, he knew Jerusalem and Acre on paper so well that he could draw it blindfolded.

His early mornings thrilled him. He exercised and trained physically with Malik and sometimes with little Junayd. He grew stronger with the leg every day. There were no such moments of supposed nothingness or boredom for Naheem. If he appeared idle, Malik found him something new to read and study.

When he became too fidgety from being cooped up inside the Bureau, Malik sent him to the roof via that stairs to sort and clean the crated there and make an inventory, something he really should have done before the inspector made him feel like a fool and a novice.

Naheem tried to ask about that girl more, but Malik kept him too busy. At night, he would just drop and sleep hard. He dreamed of those liquid brown eyes and found himself awake and hard and frustrated. Malik walked in on him taking care of himself. The stared shocked at other for a few embarrassing moments. "Don't soil my pillows or carpets. If you do, clean them immediately." Naheem thought he was going to fie of embarrassment for having been walked in on like that. The blush in his face did not leave for a long while after Malik returned to his room. After that incident, he tried other methods of dealing, like the icy cold cloth Altaïr showed him. There were times it happened in training too. Altaïr had not taught him how to handle those embarrassing moments. Malik addressed them more casually as he turned the morning training into an anatomy lesson for the two boys. Understanding the why helped Naheem dead with the how much better.

When Malik returned with a fresh bruise on his face and ordered Naheem to NOT bother him about it. Naheem simply waited till later to ask as tactfully as he could. What he learned solidified his understanding as to why Altaïr wanted him here. Malik needed some protection, or at least someone who was not really bound by a cover who could run errands without these kinds of troubles.

"Tibah's father is in town. I want to speak with him about a few matters of importance. Naheem, you stay in my stead here. That means, if anyone drops in, they must provide you any information they have. If it is of Nina, log it in THIS book not the main log book. Everything else goes in the log book. Make sure to write the date and who it is. If it is an assassin, then log who their target is. Tell them I will be back later this afternoon. There is no harm in saying you are new and don't know the answer. If that hunter comes back about information for Nina… You know nothing, you are a newly arrived novice assistant."

Naheem nodded, and nodded and hoped he remembered it all. Malik left without changing the banners outside. Naheem took out the big heavy log book and dropped it on the counter with a grin at how if thumped just like when Malik did so. He would have strutted a bit like Malik too, but he couldn't with his leg. He glowered over a map instead before he was overcome with laughter. It was silly pretending to be Malik. He did open up the big log book and read through it a little, or add some new lines to the map.

After three hours he was bored out of his skull and wondered what the hell Malik did with his time. So he cleaned the entire main floor, though not the upper ledges. He dusted the books. He even made some food, pleased that it tasted way better than anything Altaïr attempted, though it still tasted pretty horrible. He resigned himself to cut fruit and vegetables and rice. He could mess up rice. His mom had made sure of that. He missed her and then remembered his mentor, his father the assassin. He wept as he ate his lunch, not like anyone was going to see him blubbering like a child. He then understood what Malik did with his time. Sometimes, it must be just like this, with his own losses and feelings of loneliness.

"I promise you, Master Altaïr, that I will help take care of your Malik."

**A Baby's Cry**

Through the busy streets in the most crowded of markets in Jerusalem, a woman well covered from the eyes of men, hurried from one stall to another. She parsed her days' time carefully so as to be back to nurse the baby. Some Muslim women had taken her in when she pleased with them about how her husband had been mysteriously assassinated. At first they were leery because she was so pale of skin and blond haired, but her Arabic was perfect. She lied smoothly to convince them she had converted to Islamic ways for her husband's sake. She prayed with them religiously and helped in all chores. They kept her hidden and safe from the mysterious assassin whom she feared would steal or hurt her son. They gave her a small room off their family home that they normally saved for traveling guests or guards of the merchant caravan.

She watched ever place carefully, eyes searching rooftops, corners and shadows before ever making any journey, even crossing the street. The slightest suspicion of those she recognized as informants or potential assassins sent her hurrying back to her new home. She kept a then fish knife with her at all times t0o defend herself with, just in case. It would not be the first time she has killed someone she was suspicious of.

When one of the street brats fell and scraped his knee in front of her she had almost drawn the knife to kill him. "Foolish child," she had snapped at him as she turned swiftly away.

She couldn't always take the baby with her, even though she wanted to. It squirmed and wailed in the guest house alone till she returned. His eyes were a mix of brown and gold with a dusting of feather soft blond hair over his head. "Shhh… Mumma is here now. You need to learn to be quiet so they do not take you away." Her gentle words soothed him as they often did. Although there were certainly times his crying tried her nerves and she would yell back at the child that she was dumping him at the nearest church for his trouble. She liked him when he suckled quietly, but found him to be a messy burden all other times.

As she closed her curtains, she saw someone all too familiar. She stared through the crack at the man with a piercing gaze and thin black chin hairs. "Malik," she hissed. He clearly was walking with a purpose to somewhere specific. She noted his one missing arm as he passed and muttered, "Ha… cripple now. Made you a dai did they, how nice. I bet Altaïr is with you somewhere. I will find you both before I leave." The deadliest of poisons could not match the venom of her tone.

The baby wailed plaintively again. Malik stopped at the sound and she let the crack in the curtains vanish as she clamped her hand over the baby's mouth to muffle the noise. Malik looked around sure he heard a baby cry, but then walked on, not wanting to ever linger anywhere. He did not want any more bruises today.

The sound of pigeons taking flight nearby caused Nina to turn back to the window. The curtains fluttered as she muffled her own shriek. A man stood in the window with a white wing and a black wing. She was sure she saw him. But that was impossible. She blinked several times as she rushed to the window. No one was there, not even pigeons.

She picked up her baby in case he cried again. He clutched a large feather in his hand and burbled and giggled. She snarled as she snatched it from him and tossed it in the wood stove. This would be a long night of wailing where she hated this child Altaïr had plagued her with.

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A/N #2 – **FoxinaBox**: AFF is the Adult FanFiction site

A/N #3 – My birthday is Saturday July 24th, so if you don't see anything then… I was busy. Also… warning… I am away doing research for school July 26th through August 2nd. There will be no posts during that time. I might have a bunch of chapters to post though when I get back. I will try to get a couple chapters done before I leave.


	122. Chapter 122: Malik Arranges Marriage

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Look at that… I have an hour between work and an exam. Since I am giving the exam and not taking it… guess what I did!

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Malik turned at the sound of a baby's cry while on his fast walk to Tibah's family home, a few scrolls under his arm. In this district, of course there was a good chance of hearing a child cry from some home. His mind simply lingered on Altaïr's child every day as he hoped for news. When he caught a faint glimpse of that strange winged man with a white wing and black wing he almost staggered back. He leaned into the shadow of a building, mouth gaping. One black and one white wing shifted upon the man's back. He stood outside the window of where Malik heard the baby's wail. After blinking several times to be sure, really sure of what he saw, the man as simply not there. Malik wondered if maybe he hallucinated. No, he could not have. Last time he saw such a vision, Altaïr was nearly dead in an alley. Tibah had seen it too in a dream when she miraculously showed up just when he desperately needed more medical supplies. Malik had to admit, at least to himself, that angels might actually exist.

He memorized that location to mark on a map later. He stopped by the first fountain to drink water and splash his face. Picking up the scrolls again, he continued on to Tibah's family estate. Her father should have arrived home by now. Malik could have waited to see the man in the market, but there were too many sensitive things going on that he entangled himself in with this family. Malik was ready to accept the responsibility of taking in Kadar and Abby if the father turned them out. He resigned himself to that possibility. Just because Tibah was understanding, didn't mean her father was.

Servants welcomed him into a cool room with fountains. Tibah was with her older sister and brother-in-law at the market stall. Kadar lurked in while the servants fetched beverages and the man of the house. "Rafiq? I want to thank you," he murmured. "Abby is doing well."

Malik offered a small smile and nod but could not answer as Kadar's father entered the room. "Kadar! I thought you were preparing a bath for your… friend." Kadar blushed and slipped out as quickly as he could. "My family stresses me to no end these days." The older man sighed deeply as he sat across from Malik at a low table on the carpets. Servants brought over cool drinks and some sliced fruit. "Be welcome in my home rafiq. I can only guess that this has something to do with perhaps the recent additions to my family or the daughter I hope to marry off."

Malik hated these old men who knew too much and anticipated his needs sometimes before he knew he had a need. "Has someone explained the situation with Kadar's friend to you?"

"Oh yes, at length, and thankfully before I had to take a stick to anyone. Kadar… I warned him to take care. He now must bear the burden of his recklessness, and thus has forced some of that burden onto me. At least I can use a good accountant and Abdel is a fine one. Thank you for your assistance and discretion in this matter, rafiq."

Malik had not realized how pent up with stress he was over that situation till he felt the tension wash away with relief. "I am glad I could help. Tibah and Kadar have been a blessing on me when I have come in need."

The older man smiled broadly to hear his daughter was a blessing to Malik. "That is wonderful to hear! I know you had said before that you were not really interested, but maybe you have reconsidered the match? She is very resourceful, Can cook and sew and do all the things a good wife must, skilled in apothecary work… I trained her myself. We can even negotiate the dowry if we must."

Malik coughed and colored scarlet. He drank some sweet fruit juice to recover, clearly seeing where Tibah inherited her boldness. "Please, you misunderstand. I too have recently had an addition to my family, so to speak. My brother and his family had been attacked on their way to Jerusalem. My nephew is the only survivor and is now under my care, training and responsibility. I was perhaps considering negotiating a possible match for him and your daughter. He is educated and will follow in my footsteps. He is about Tibah's age. I thought if they turned out to like each other, I would like to pursue that direction instead." He knew it might not work out, but it would take some of the heat off of him. And likely he could convince Naheem to take Tibah anyways as a way to maintain her silence and thus protect the family and the Brotherhood. All the brotherhood engaged in these kinds of duties. It suddenly made sense to him why Altaïr was forced to marry Nina. It was not a punishment for Altaïr, it was to control the dangerous situation that Nina represented.

The older man weighed this new information. "I should like to meet your nephew in person before I truly entertain the idea."

Malik nodded, "I shall bring him by once his wounds are healed." Now for the hard talk. "I have another matter about Tibah I need to address with you. She has requested to train, to be my apprentice in the little amount of doctoring that I know. I promised to at the very least bring it up to you before she does something rash or worse shameful." He could already see those thoughts roiling and tumbling in the older man's eyes. "She assisted me with the healing of Abdel. I have to admit that I was impressed with her abilities. However, it would be much too inappropriate for me to take her on. True, I could use her help. True, she would make a wonderful apprentice in that field."

"But she is a women! That is NOT the place for a woman dealing with soiled and bleeding bodies, or nude men! To see the horrors of—"

"She had seen a young man stoned near to death and handled that better than most grown men," Malik found himself defending her and not knowing why. "If she and my nephew wed, I could train her without stigma to any of us."

The older man groaned and wiped his hand over his face, "Allah save me from my children."

"If thing do not go so well between Tibah and my nephew, Naheem… Then I will reconsider Tibah for myself."

That seemed to placate the distressed man. Malik negotiated his dowry offer for Tibah on behalf of Naheem and included the apprenticeship in the dowry. He wasn't sure how he would come up with the funds beyond making a request to Masyaf otherwise. As they negotiated the dowry and other trade, including the crate of paper that Malik had not yet brought himself to open, the older man presented Malik with a book. "This is full now. I suppose you will have more use of its contents than I, and if I observe anything of note in my fading years, I will pass it along to you. Old habits… never seem to be left behind, even after retirement of more than twenty years."

Malik curiously opened the front cover and saw the logo of the brotherhood within. His head snapped up in shock so fast his neck made a small noise. He dropped his eyes again and flipped through the pages quickly. An informant's journal or an assassin's. Malik shot a fleeting glance to the man's left hand and saw the tell-tale missing finger. Understanding now dawned across his expression. "Does your family know?"

"Only my wife. My eldest son was but a toddler when I retired. I had taken ill and making my missions successful became increasingly difficult. I retired to be an apothecary and with some help, died on the books of the Brotherhood. I should like to remain dead. Things have changed there and I am not inclined to be involved in them or this war. I should like to keep my children out of it too, as much as possible."

The idea that one so distanced had reservations, much like the Old Dai, unsettled Malik. "I shall do my best. But Tibah seems… very…"

"Willful?"

Malik didn't want to say it because he thought it would sound too rude.

"I know my daughter. It is why she is not yet married. If I tried to marry her to someone she did not wish to be married to… I am sure she would do something drastic like run away, try dressing like a boy again, or worse… poison him. I have not shown her that side of the apothecary business."

They concluded their discussion on other topics of trade, city life, world politics, and medicines. Upon departing, they exchanged the offering of safety and peace.

Malik strode swiftly through the streets, pausing slightly at the building he had seen that angel at and heard the child's cry at. He did not linger long. He arrived in the Bureau to find Naheem sitting slumped in the stool, arms crossed on the counter over the map he was working on, head down and quite asleep. Malik stroked through the boy's hair to gently wake him. "Come, let us have some supper and then get you to an early bed before you injure yourself falling from the stool in your sleep."

Naheem rubbed his eyes. He had been dreaming of flying with wings, or carried by someone with wings, maybe with Altaïr in a Leap of Faith which he had yet to learn.

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A/N #2 – Reminder… I am away from internet from July 26th through August 2nd.

A/N #3 - I have edited this chapter a bit for better accuracy based on helpful information from a reviewer.


	123. Chapter 123: Altair and the Monk

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Typing in the dark while camping, using up battery power as someone is stealing my day of electricity and pissed me off…. Typing in the rain hoping the cord does not go POOF!

* * *

Naheem rubbed his eyes. He had been dreaming of flying with wings, or carried by someone with wings, maybe with Altaïr in a Leap of Faith which he had yet to learn.

Altaïr crouched long on a parapet of wall overlooking the docks of Acre. He had gathered information throughout this filthy city about his target, Sibrand. A Teutonic knight of the Crusades with some Templars at his command, Sibrand was a fine archer and plotted to control the docks and all those who made use of them. He seemed also to be exceptionally aware an assassin was after him, acting paranoid as Altaïr had observed. Although, the north side of the docks should have less of Sibrand's men present, if he could only get there and corner his target.

Acre proved most troublesome this time round. Guards and soldiers roamed actively alert and seeking him, a white hooded and robed assassin. To make it worse, his target would be out on the docks, likely on a boat. He remained crouched on that parapet as the sun rose over the water. Water. Why oh why this? How did they know this would be his one and only phobia? Did that get leaked out by the traitor too? But really who knew that fact of Altaïr? Very very few. The ship and boat masts silhouetted black against the thin color of the lightening sky. The first look provided a tactical layout of two towers out at sea and three high guard towers with archers upon them. Leaping from boat to boat could get one there to eliminate the archers easily and reach the north side without any trouble… But only if you were inclined to leap unknown depths of water onto precarious wobbly boats, which Altaïr was not.

Altaïr scanned left at sheer wall that soon dropped into rocky water. He scanned right along the wall to a tower in the north with a better lookout spot. He had crouched and slept in this parapet nook all night waiting for better light before seeking a new watching point. That tower would be perfect. It was high enough for an eagle to see all and to spread its wing. He longed for that sense of freedom, however false. Drawing his short blade from his back, he made a mad rush along the wall cutting down any guards that showed for morning watch till he reached his desired tower. He looked back at the blood path as he wiped his short curved blade clean before locking it into the scabbard on his back. It will be at least four hours before shift change and the bodies' discovery. He would long gone by then.

The damp wind off the water was blessedly cool as it whipped Altaïr's robes and hood. He stood tall, stretching his arms out and lifting his face allowing the wind to blow his hood off. He absorbed the feel of this wind as if through his feathered wings. He breathed in the intangibly familiar salty air. In a long slow deep breath, he shifted his vision and looked down through the strange myriad colors he had grown used to. Mostly whites and blues shimmered among the people below. Groups of shimmering reds warned of soldiers marching and patrolling together. A flicker of yellow, his target, blinked in and out as Sibrand wove through a crowd with some of his men, dragging someone with them. Altaïr narrowed his eyes but could not make out enough details. He needed to get closer.

His eyes spotted the haystack below. He tugged his hood back into place and outstretched his arms again. One last look locked Sibrand's location into his mind and mapped the route from the bird's eye view. Two fast steps took Altaïr to the end of the post. A silent leap of faith and he hung suspended a moment before gravity tugged him down. Instinct controlled his flight. He landed safely in the hay.

From behind a pillar, Altaïr peered around to watch his target amidst a crowd wailing insanely at a poor old white-clad monk. Sibrand accused the monk of being an assassin or at least affiliated. Altaïr drew out a throwing knife, but there was no clear shot. He returned to his hiding behind the pillar heaving annoyed sighs. To throw the little blade might kill an innocent person. _Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent._ Altaïr's mind frantically searched for a way to save the monk without exposing himself or hurting anyone. Shrieks and screams from the crowd snapped his attention back around the pillar.

Sibrand cut down the frail monk.

Altaïr rolled back against the pole again swallowing back his curses. This too was his fault. That poor monk died because of him, because he hides among them, because they had helped him. Altaïr ground his teeth and waited hours for the crowd to disperse. Now and then he peered over to see everyone ignoring the body. The city guard would take it away around midnight if no one claimed it.

Altaïr waited further till dusk, then strode over and picked up the body himself. His own penance, Altaïr carried the dead old monk through the streets of the Lower District. No one bothered him. Most bowed their head and made way for him, even the city guard. He climbed some stairs and stepped up onto a low wall ledge. The sun set, as people locked themselves into their ho90mes as if on a curfew. Altaïr's muscles coiled and tensed. He sprang the distance with his burden to a low roof of a monastery. There he leaned against the bell floor door and wove around the large bell. His pace slowed as he walked down the stairs, the monk's blood already staining his own robes. In the main prayer room of the monastery, he was met by another monk. Altaïr could not find the words to say how sorry he was for his part in this.

The monk pressed his hand to Altaïr's cheek and wiped the streams of water from each one. "Come, we will lay him over here and tend him ourselves. You may shelter in that side room and wash your robes down there in the washing area. I will make sure you have food and water by morning." There was no room for refusal. Altaïr wasn't sure he wanted to refuse. His mind filled with so many questions, questions about god's existence and how these people can keep their faith in the face of such things.

Altaïr listened to the unexpectedly soothing sounds of the midnight chanting of the monks in prayer over their dead. He bleached his robes and hung them to dry by a fire in his small room. He eyed the Bible on the bedside, but refused to touch it. _I am forsaken._ He woke to the dawn bell tolling and monks in morning prayer. By the time he was dressed and hooded, a simple breakfast rested on a little stool outside his room. He ate swiftly and placed the piece of bread into one of his pouches. The same monk he saw the night before awaited him in the bell tower Altaïr had come in through. Bright feathered angelic wings shone one white and one black, vanishing as the monk turned to face Altaïr. It was only a trick of the dawn light. Altaïr squinted to be sure. A simple man, monk, stood there before him. "Be the hand of god for us all. Be the Sword of Michael. Fly with sharp talons, Eagle of Masyaf. We accept our sacrifices for the hope of safety and peace to come."

Altaïr wasted no more time. His feet pounded silently across the roof. He leapt the gap and kept running, roof by roof, diving off the parapets when he reached them. Landing hard and rolling right, he rose onto his feet again on the roof of a shop on the docks. He overheard how Sibrand took refuge on a ship off the north dock near the north tower. Narrowed golden eyes, Altaïr decided to avenge this death and finish his mission… today.

* * *

A/N #2 – July 28th, 2010. GAK! RAIN! Packing up till later.


	124. Chapter 124: Malik Talks About Missions

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – July 29th, 2010. The breeze is lovely and allowing me to do some typing while sitting at my vending table here at the festival. No… *sigh* I have not yet done interviews for my thesis. I will pin some people down later.

* * *

Altaïr wasted no more time. His feet pounded silently across the roof. He leapt the gap and kept running, roof by roof, diving off the parapets when he reached them. Landing hard and rolling right, he rose onto his feet again on the roof of a shop on the docks. He overheard how Sibrand took refuge on a ship off the north dock near the north tower. Narrowed golden eyes, Altaïr decided to avenge this death and finish his mission… today.

Naheem finally hobbled about without the crutch by the second week. He was not strong enough to really climb things with any balance, other than the stairs to the roof. He remained deep in study under Malik's tutelage. Malik sent a progress report to Masyaf.

The Hunter dropped in seeking news. He left disappointed and would return again in a week. The very day after the Hunter left, one of the informants dropped in with Junayd. They had a rough daily itinerary of Nina's activities. Junayd practically strutted overly proud about his findings. Malik showed Naheem how to go about logging everything in the alternate book as if it were the official book. Under observation, Naheem recorded an assassin mission when one of the lower ranked assassins arrived with an assigned target. Naheem learned how to summon one informant to help gather news. Naheem's current pronounced limp reaffirmed to any of the passing Brotherhood of his crippled state.

The feeling of being incapacitated and crippled took its toll on Naheem. By week three, she destroyed a map in his frustration and broke two bottles of ink burying his face in his ink covered arms with shaking shoulders. Malik came over to guide him away from the mess and help him get cleaned up. "Novice Naheem. Look at me. You… you are NOT crippled. You are only injured."

"But Altaïr…"

"Do not compare yourself to him," Malik stated firmly. "He is a master assassin. He is more accustomed to dealing with his injuries. Also, he… is different. He is graced with the ability to heal much faster than most people. So do not compare yourself to him. You will heal in your own time and be just as capable of doing missions as any other assassin. I promise." Malik could not expect Naheem to be sweet and docile forever. Assassins all had their own dangerous streaks, it was simply a matter of finding that limit and Naheem reached his. Much as he had done with Altaïr, Malik took one of the spare blank journals and offered it to Naheem to keep his own journal. Then he shoved him back into the main room to clean up the mess he created.

Naheem learned swiftly how responsible he was for his own outbursts. The consequence was that he had to work off the fee for the replacement inks and live with the guilt of seeing Malik with a few new bruises when he returned from purchasing new ones. He apologized often and was struck down hard by Malik. "I am doing my duty and you will do yours. Never feel sorry for me. You don't want to be treated like a cripple, don't treat me like one either!" Naheem was then banished to the upstairs floor and ordered to sort and clean it.

They gave each other space for a couple days.

Eating in silence one evening, Naheem asked, "May I keep that upstairs room for myself? So I am not in the lounging room that everyone drops in through?" Malik considered it a few times but decided no. He wanted Naheem where he would learn the names and faces and routines of people, also to keep track of that Hunter should the man drop in again at some point. Naheem was disappointed, but understood. Malik may have the back room, but it was hardly considered private when you considered he hosted all the injured members of their Brotherhood there, often in his own bed.

The assassin returned with some news of his own on his target and gathered the news Malik and Naheem had an informant seek. A couple days later he dropped through the lattice nearly onto Naheem. Thankfully the novice did not yell, but managed to smother it. He called for Malik loudly as he hurried to try to support the injured assassin. "Safety and peace brother. I got you." Naheem tried to be as reassuring as Malik. Malik took one look and instructed for them to go into the back while he gathers his medical supplies. "Did you succeed?" Naheem asked as Malik might, to distract one from their wounds.

"Yes," the man groaned as he struggled to pull free his bloodied feather. Naheem helped him lie on the spare bed mat and took the feather away with him. Malik asked questions of the assassin to get the details of the kill as Naheem wrote the accounting into the log. This freed Malik to wash and inspect the wounded, and then Naheem became a much needed second set of hands to help with treating their wounded. They took turns watching over the man through the night.

In the morning, Malik reassessed the man's wounds and dictated to Naheem the message to be sent to Masyaf. Naheem however, failed miserably in obtaining a bird. The pigeons flew the second they saw him approach over and over. Malik made him sit on the floor near where they land with some seed in his hand until they actually landed on him. Naheem thought his bladder would burst by the time he finally fitted the bird with the message and sent it on its way. Malik nodded approval finally at Naheem's determined patience, "And sometimes it takes this kind of stillness as you wait for your target or wait for the right moment to strike. Timing is everything, Novice Naheem."

Naheem then slept under the lattice to intercept little Junayd to let him know that lessons were postponed till their wounded assassin has healed enough to be on his way. That meant no blade practice or sword training. It only lasted a week. The assassin's wounds were not so bad once he had been treated. Too much of a delay could have cost him a limb or his life. He was healed enough to ride back to Masyaf, but would need another month low activity till he was properly healed and then spend a couple months with the blade trainers to recover the use and accuracy of his sword arm.

Hearing all this reassured Naheem of his own recovery, despite the lie Malik perpetuated that Naheem would be lame forever. It was entirely a ploy to keep him here for training. Most days Naheem appreciated the ploy, some days he fought it. The days he stretched and worked out with Malik helped. The days he learned how to use each sharp weapon encouraged him.

Late one night, after Naheem finished redoing the map he had ruined, he witnessed Malik walk past and into the open room to stare up through the lattice at the stars. In his one hand he twirled a golden eagle feather as he wondered silently about Altaïr.

"Master Malik?" It always surprised Malik to be called master by Naheem. Malik would silently thank Altaïr for the honour. "Master Malik?" Malik turned his attention to his novice apprentice. "How long are his missions? How long are missions generally?"

"Go make some coffee and we will talk about how missions are done." This young man was not just a novice, not just an apprentice, but his and Altaïr's. _Our novice apprentice._ Naheem limped into the kitchen and learned how to make the rare coffee that Malik liked. They sat under the stars with their coffees and the cool breeze that drifted in.

"Missions are often assigned by the head of the order, although lesser assassins or novices testing their wings can simply show up at a Bureau and be assigned local missions by the rafiq or the dai of that city's Bureau." Malik showed Naheem the list of local missions that can be assigned when novices and assassins come seeking duties. Each local mission had been coded according to the rank. "If you know someone well, you come to know what they are capable of and might offer them missions that will challenge them. A mission can go swiftly when the leg work of seeking information has already been done. Missions take longer if the novice arrives and must seek his own information. We only give out a feather when they are ready to make the kill of an approved target and if they have a plan. The average mission can take as long as a month or as short as a week. The more difficult missions can sometimes take as long as three months. On the rare occasion, a Hunter is sent out."

This is what confused Naheem, "And what exactly is a Hunter? Is Master Altaïr a Hunter?"

"He could be when he is not…" Malik was going to say something rude, maybe call Altaïr an arrogant ass; however Altaïr no longer really was that kind of person anymore. "… when he is not on other assigned missions. He is a deadly assassin and best serves on the difficult missions that need to be handled swiftly. Hunters are sent on missions you expect will take them outside our usual familiar locations or seeking an extremely elusive target. The track their target not just through a city, but perhaps across countries till they find them and make their kill. Hunters answer only to the master of our order just as the master assassins."

"I'll never be one of those, will I?" he asked earnestly.

"No, you will never be a Hunter, but you could be a very good assassin, maybe even a master. And when I am done with you, you will understand how informants work, how the rafiq's and dai work and thus appreciate the work they do and better know how to use what they offer." Malik was already applying some of his new training techniques with Naheem. Train them across all the professions so they have a basic proficiency and could in a pinch serve in any field when necessary. Then train them to specialize, as opposed to waiting till they are ten, testing them and then obliging them to one field. Malik could dream of reform. He always did. He even wanted to go back to training children as young as four again, but in the basic across all the fields. Maybe narrow the specialties around ten and then really specialize around fifteen.

"Master Malik?"

Malik shook his head from the daydreaming he was caught in. "You will have more options, Novice Naheem, than any other assassin." Malik never wanted to see a broken Altaïr ever again. Altaïr was a killer, trained to be the very best and nothing else. That meant he could hardly function socially or in any other field. Malik felt that was more damaging. He sipped his coffee with Altaïr on his mind and again wondering how the eagle fared. They both did.

* * *

A/N #2 – I could overhear like a little eaves-dropping assassin the small children at this festival practicing their storytelling skills for the evening's children's bardic competition. They are SO ADORABLE!


	125. Chapter 125: Altair Kills Sibrand

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Writing because I am too ill to think of thesis work. I have a summer cold that has tried to kill me all week out here while camping and vending. Totally ruined my voice so I cannot ask the questions I needed to in interviews and had to abandon that aspect of my week and weekend.

* * *

Malik never wanted to see a broken Altaïr ever again. Altaïr was a killer, trained to be the very best and nothing else. That meant he could hardly function socially or in any other field. Malik felt that was more damaging. He sipped his coffee with Altaïr on his mind and again wondering how the eagle fared. They both did.

Altaïr wasted no more time. His feet pounded silently across the roof. He leapt the gap and kept running, roof by roof, diving off the parapets when he reached them. Landing hard and rolling right, he rose onto his feet again on the roof of a shop on the docks. He overheard how Sibrand took refuge on a ship off the north dock near the north tower. Narrowed golden eyes, Altaïr decided to avenge this death and finish his mission… today.

His flight through the docks and merchants there vanished in blurs of people and draped merchant cloth and rooftops till he skidded to a halt at the sight of ten crusader knights. They were nearly as tough and nearly as armoured as Templars. They blocked the route down the dock to his target. A drunkard ambled back and forth in front of a boat nearby. They always ruined attempts at stealth. Although, a hop from the boat to another boat to the shore and Altaïr could climb the wall to a lookout and deal with a watching archer. That way he could bypass the squad of knights.

He watched the marching knights. He watched the ambling drunkard. He eyed the boat uneasily. His chest grew tight at the thought the water. But the chance of losing his target or alarming his target somehow seemed worse. Failing a mission incurred punishments he did not think he could live through. He fought so hard for the small amount of redemption he has obtained already. He concluded that the risk of water was worth the tiny scraps of trust and friendship he imagined and hoped he had.

Waiting, he timed himself. The knights turned and marched back along the dock. The drunkard teetered to the left. Altaïr took three long fast strides and leapt. He landed on the boat. It rocked and he froze. While it stilled, he calculated the next couple jumps, muscles coiling in preparation. He spread his arms for balance, feeling the breeze ruffling his robes. Golden eyes picked out the next few perches. Before the next breeze chilled his sweat, he ran and leapt and flew and leapt again. He landed on the shore and dropped to his hands and knees grateful, but only for a couple breaths before dashing to the wall. He scaled it easily, pulling himself onto the roof as the archer turned. His wrist blade snapped out then in. The archer dropped onto the roof silently in death. Altaïr would clean his blade later.

Altaïr crouched on that watch roof. The knights marched buy. The whistle of an arrow nearly caused him to dodge and give himself away. The arrow flew from a distant ship and only made noise. It was aimed at nothing. Sibrand's yelling could be heard over the water. With the backs of the knights to him, Altaïr picked them off with his throwing knives. The last two met him on the roof. One he threw off into the water where his heavy armour sunk him to his death. The other he dispatches on the roof. The path was not clear save for some people with crates. He knocked one over and disappeared up a wall out of sight.

Up to the top of a tower, Altaïr looked down at the knights and the Templar marching patrol around the tower. He cursed for not having noted them earlier and now being out of throwing knives. From his vantage point, he could count only a few knights on the ship and Sibrand shooting arrows and yelling from the prow of the ship. He dropped into the hay on the north side of the tower and waited till the patrol passed him. Then he crept out behind them and started to take a couple lives at a time. The first six went smoothly. The other four and the Templar turned on him. The Templar proved most difficult, except Altaïr was ready. The Templar was ill-trained for fighting in the narrow space between a tower wall and the outer wall. He claimed some of their smaller knives to use as throwing knives. They would throw poorly, but he didn't need accuracy. He needed to draw the knights off the ship, maybe even Sibrand.

Sibrand was not easy to lure. The knights though, Altaïr nearly laughed at their stupidity. He took each life with a grin. A wide swing threw one right off the ship's walking plank. Determination belayed Altaïr's fears of water for the time being. He ran the plank onto the ship and dodged an arrow as he closed swiftly upon Sibrand. They fought fast and furious for their lives, Altaïr desperately avoiding the sides of the ship not wanted to be knocked overboard. He would never have dared this if it was just a boat, but the ship was large enough to be more stable.

Without heavy armour, Altaïr wove and dodged; his moves and steps faster than Sibrand. Although Sibrand landed heavier hits deeply bruising even with glancing blows. Dexterity and speed won out over Sibrand and Altaïr held him pinned to the deck of the ship.

"Please," Sibrand begged, "Don't do this."

The fog shrouded them as Altaïr had dreaded. "You are afraid." He sounded surprised. None of his targets had ever seemed so afraid as Sibrand.

"Of _course_ I am afraid!" His life was slipping as they spoke, but the soul lingered and clung just the same.

The confusion glared through Altaïr voice, "But you'll be safe now, held in the arms of your god."

The ensuing discussion reaffirmed what Altaïr could not grasp and had hoped was not true. Sibrand declared that there was no god and that there was nothing after death. He asked the soul to linger longer in life and to tell him of the plots in play. Here Altaïr learned that the Templars were actually plotting against King Richard, creating a blockade at sea to prevent reinforcements once they supposedly freed the Holy Land from religion.

"Freedom?" Altaïr blurted very sceptically. "You work to overthrow cities... control men's minds... murdered any who spoke against you!"

The soul was fading, yet Sibrand spoke the last important message before dying. "I followed my orders... believing in my cause... same as you."

The fog evaporated to reveal a noon sun. Alarm bells rang in the city loudly as the thundering of armoured boot pounded the wood and stone along the dock toward the ship. Altaïr took flight over the side of the boat to the plank and leapt long to the shore to avoid being seen by the guards. The gravel gave way under his feet and he slid into the water. His hands scrabbled along the shore and barely managed to grasp the edge of a small boat in the panic that rose to obliterate all thought. Fingers held the edge in a talon death grip. Water lapped his shoulders and his chin. Altaïr's mind blanked in terror.

Someone grabbed his robes and dragged him ashore. The monk he had seen in the tower shook him several times till his senses returned. Altaïr realized he was shaking and dripping against the stone wall in a nook. Some very poor fished on this stony shore. No one looked at them. The monk patted Altaïr cheek till full awareness returned to the assassin's eyes. Then he turned and shuffled away in humble prayer.

Altaïr remained there against the hot stones till the sun dried him and his robes. He pressed his hands and back against the secure feel of the stable stone wall. The search was on for a killer, an assassin, Sibrand's murderer. Altaïr took almost a full day and a half to make it back to the Bureau with his bloodied feather. He slept the night in a covered roof garden wishing it was Malik he would encounter as he watched the stars out the split of the curtains. The alarms continued to peel loudly. Acre was more determined to find the killer than other places. Probably because it was a Templar controlled city. The sleep was poor with the terrible bruises, again reminding him of his desire to be in Malik's care.

* * *

A/N #2 – July 31st, 2010. Last night was 7 degrees celcius. I wrote shivering. I conclude this chapter tonight in 11 degrees celcius. Welcome to summer in the woods of Canada where it can be 40 decreed celcius in the sunny day and less than 10 degrees celcius at night.


	126. Chapter 126: I Spy Naheem

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Still sick. Sorry for the slowness of the writing. This cold is a doozy. I think I will give my sick to Altair…. Just because….

* * *

The sleep was poor with the terrible bruises, again reminding Altaïr of his desire to be in Malik's care.

Malik never wanted to see a broken Altaïr ever again. Altaïr was a killer, trained to be the very best and nothing else. That meant he could hardly function socially or in any other field. Malik felt that was more damaging. He sipped his coffee with Altaïr on his mind and again wondering how the eagle faired. They both did.

In the morning's training, Malik tested Naheem without the crutches and declared he could start limping about the Bureau without aid to strengthen the muscles. He changed the stretched and exercises for Naheem as well to focus on rebuilding the muscle of that injured leg. "I'll take back the crutches and get you a cane," he explained to the teen. "It will help ease the weight when it aches."

Naheem, who was started to feel the cabin fever, suggested, "I can go. Then I'll be there for him to measure, too. I'm taller after all." He pointed to his slightly too short pants.

"No. I don't want you out there till you can really hold your own." Malik made mental note of the too short pants, planning to sort through the supplies for better fitting clothing for the novice.

"But I've already been out there with Altaïr," Naheem countered in pleading voice.

The slam of the book on the counter as Malik moved it to get to the little chest of coin attested to his annoyance. "I said no. You will stay here, novice. Don't go behaving like Altaïr in one of his insolent moments."

Naheem clenched his fists. If he were Altaïr, he would have turned away and sat on the carpets. But he wasn't Altaïr, so he again countered with his best logic. "I have been in here for a month. I need to see the outside and breathe different air. Also, I am tired of seeing you coming back bruised! I don't even understand why you don't defend yourself…" Naheem trailed off as he realized he had raised his voice to his mentor and muttered a small apology.

Malik sighed heavily knowing he was about to give in to this justified outburst. "Novice should listen to their mentors. Your apology is accepted. But sometimes, I suppose Mentors ought to listen to their novice's concerns. I have gotten so used to being in here that I forgot how cloistering it must feel. Assassins were meant to be out there in flight like great eagles. I will let you go, but let me first explain why I do not fight back." Malik stepped around the counter and sat on a cushion under the lattice. He tossed a little handful of seed over to the excited pigeons.

Naheem limped over and sat as well, overjoyed to be permitted some freedom and curious about Malik's reasons for taking beatings from guards and thugs and bullies.

"As a Dai, we all have a persona that discourages anyone from ever thinking we are anything but helpless craftsmen. I play the role of a cripple, a helpless map maker and scribe. If I fought back, I know instinct would rule my moves and they would know me for what I really am. I take the beatings in order to ensure I am never followed or suspected, to ensure that this Bureau remains a secret and a place of safety and peace for our Brothers." It was the truth and a heavy responsibility. "We have all learned how to take a hit so it does the least damage. I'll start that training with you tonight. The bruises I get are rarely as bad as they look. The ones that hurt more are the price I willingly pay for your safety. I accept that. Don't ever belittle my sacrifices."

Understanding filling Naheem's eyes as his respect for Malik grew. "Do I have to pretend to be helpless too?"

"Go out the front door and knock eight times when you come back. Be careful out there Novice Naheem." Malik felt like he was sending his little brother out on the first mission all over again. He wanted to follow the teen to make sure he was fine, but knew he should not. Naheem was grown up. He could make mature and careful decisions for himself. It wasn't the teen he did not trust, but the people outside. He reminded himself again that ever bird wanted to take flight at some point. They all sought freedom. By giving them that freedom, you stood a better chance of them returning of their own free will. It was like that for Altaïr. _If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it is yours. If it doesn't, then it never was._ Wise words from Malik's older brother. "Go on! Before I change my mind and make you scrub the floor of the bird crap."

Naheem grinned with the most adorable dimpling in his still plump cheeks and gathered what he needed. Malik gave him the directions and some coin showing him how to hide it so it did not jingle. If Naheem could have skipped with joy he would have.

Malik changed the flagging outside to be open for business. He watched Naheem's receding back for a while before returning to the cool dim Bureau. Within he busied himself on anything and everything he could to not think about Naheem or Altaïr. The worry nagged his gut all day.

Naheem got lost twice on his way. His mental image of the mapping was from a roof top view which did not help him on the ground. A couple thugs cornered him. He tried to talk his way out of their advances. He reached for a knife he did not have as they closed in. "Don't come any closer. I'm warning you!" They laughed at his bravado, but only till Naheem clobbered one unconscious with the wider end of his crutch. "Leave me alone!" The other was so startled he actually did back off and run. _I don't have to be a victim._ He tisked that he had actually broken the crutch and hoped the craftsman would still accept it. He hobbled the rest of the way to the stall.

The craftsman also tisked at Naheem for the broken crutch. It was worth less on the return. Luckily Malik had given Naheem enough money to buy a new one without the return, just in case. Naheem stood while he was measured and had the pleasure after to watch the man pedal a lathe and craft him a cane on the spot. He offered to even engrave it with something if Naheem wished. "No thank you. But that is a great idea! I might do that myself later. Thank you for the quick work." The craftsman showed Naheem how to use the cane properly for his wounded leg and wished him a speedy recovery.

The return trip was uneventful. That suited Naheem just fine. He enjoyed every second of his trip outside in the sun. He even detoured to the larger market in the rich district to try to find something sweet to eat. He bought some fruit and paused as he caught a glimpse of the young girl he had met in the Bureau. He ate one of the peaches while he watched her. She served customers and advised them on how to use the remedies she made for them. Her brown eyes reminded him of the expensive coffee Malik like to drink. In a quiet moment with no customers, she scanned the market. Her liquid brown eyes landed on Naheem. He blushed and limped into an alley, making his way back to the Bureau.

The open for business flag still fluttered outside the Bureau. Naheem knocked eight times anyways before letting himself in. Malik scratched intricate lines on a map bent over the counter. He barely looked up. "Safety and peace, Master Malik. I bought some peaches. I hope you don't mind." Malik straightened as Naheem set the basket on the counter beside the map, limping with the new cane.

Malik studied the movements and nodded approval to Naheem. "Safety and peace. Your errand was successful if overly long." It was a small reprimand for the unwarranted detour. He plucked a peach from the basket though and savoured each bite.

Naheem smiled knowing he was reprimanded but also knowing he made the right choice. "I watched him make the cane right there. It was amazing. And I saw that girl at the market when I got the peaches." His cheeks betrayed his interest.

"Did she see you?"

"Uh… Yes?" Naheem started to blush again and studied his toes intensely.

Malik shook his head, "Foolish novice. The creed clearly states to remain invisible, blend into the crowd. Never let your target see you."

"I didn't go specifically to see her! I swear! I didn't even know she would be there! I went for peaches and… uh... saw her…" Naheem's defenses started to crumble.

"…And dallied to watch her when you saw her and then was spotted by her," Malik finished for Naheem. "Tibah is her name and she is more perceptive than anyone I have ever met." Malik observed the squirming novice and chuckled. "Did you linger once she saw you?"

"No, I hurried into the shadows as best I could with the … with my…" Naheem thumped the cane and lost all the joy from the encounter, his embarrassment more over his injured state.

Malik motioned Naheem into the back and lead him to sit on his bed mat. "She is very pretty and very smart. You are very handsome, painfully so and enough that anyone would want to be close to you. Do not let your injury hinder your perspectives or prospects. I told you that you would heal just fine."

Malik prepared some dinner for them and then joined Naheem with the meal. "Do you understand that sometimes duties require some actions that we don't always wish?" Naheem nodded as he ate wondering what Malik was leading into. "Did your father marry your mother by choice and love or by duty and an arranged marriage?"

"He married out of duty, but my mother cared for him as far as I know." Naheem thought a moment while chewing then asked, "Are you being obliged to marry someone?" After a few moments of silence, he asked, "Am I?"

"I will never force you. But we have a situation where someone knows too much. It is a risk. It could cost this person their life and the lives of their family. I refuse to accept that option. It is my mistake to not have stopped it before it got to this point, so if necessary, I will marry the girl. But she is of your age and well, if you like her, then this would work out better. Nothing is set in stone. I have offered you as my nephew. If you do not like her, or if her father does not like you, then I will ask for her hand myself." It was not what Malik wanted, clearly, he had no interest in the girl in that way, or any girl. If he was inclined to be sexual, he would make moves on Naheem who was truly too adorable for words. "I would like to bring you to meet Tibah's father perhaps next week."

"It's Tibah?" Naheem blushed again. "B-but I don't really know her."

"Do you want to get to know her?" Malik asked. He already knew the answer just by Naheem's fumbling of words and dinner spoon. "Your first challenges will be to watch her and know her routine without her spotting you."

"What if her father doesn't like me? What if all he sees is the cane? What could I possibly offer her as dowry?" The questions ran into one another in a near jumble.

"I am sure he will love you as much as I do. I will remind him you are healing and that the cane is very temporary. He knows you were hurt, attacked on the road on your way here. I left the details vague. As for a dowry… I am your uncle and thus now am responsible for providing for your dowry."

Naheem wondered, "But if I am training to be an assassin, what should I tell her? Or tell her father? I might be away often for missions. My mother thought my father was a caravan guard for years. I… I don't want to lie."

Malik laughed out loud. It earned him a reproachful scowl from the teen. "Tibah … There is no way you will be able to lie to her. She is too smart and would figure it out anyways. Besides, part of the dowry is training her to be a healer. She figured out from the items I have purchased that I practice doctoring in secret. It is her ingenious curved needles and gut threads that have healed you. Anyways, in time… let's get you limping less."

Naheem was ever eager for days now. He wished he had hair to shave in some manly way and lamented often to Malik's amusement.

* * *

A/N #2 – To Sally: I try to write a small chapter every day or every second day. By keeping the chapters short and digestible, I can post more often. Sometimes I am slow due to work, school, vacation, or at the moment because I am sick.


	127. Chapter 127: Altair Sick

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – See how much I love Altaïr? I shared with him.

* * *

Naheem was ever eager for days now. He wished he had hair to shave in some manly way and lamented often to Malik's amusement.

The sleep was poor with the terrible bruises, again reminding Altaïr of his desire to be in Malik's care. The dampness in his clothes he had thought he sun baked dry was a lie. His under clothes proved still wet as he tried to sleep. The bells clanged on for him all through the next day. Altaïr slunk into the Bureau, dropped with a soft thud onto his right knee and standing again.

"Altaïr! You have caused quite a disturbance!" The rafiq of this Bureau stroked his long grey beard.

"I've done as requested. Sibrand's life is ended." He hovered in the doorway for several moments before entering and handing over his bloodied feather.

The rafiq accepted it and slid it into place in the large log book. "So it is, so it is. You should ride for Maysaf and inform Al Mualim of your success."

"Yes, I should return and speak to him... of this and other things..." Altaïr's words were more for himself.

"Is everything alright my friend? You seem... distant." Concern laced the elderly man's words.

Altaïr shook his head, "It's nothing Rafiq, just a lot on my mind." He tugged his hood down to hide his expression.

The body language did not escape the old man, "Talk to me then, let me help."

Altaïr hardly ever let even Malik help, "I need to make sense of this myself first. But thank you for the offer."

"It is the men you kill, isn't it? You feel... something for them."

"How?" Altaïr turned back to the rafiq in surprise, wondering really how the man knew.

"Ah, my friend, you're not meant to enjoy these grim tasks. Regret, uncertainty, sympathy - this is to be expected." His words were gentle in their explanation.

Altaïr lifted his eyes to the man in confusion, "I should not fear these feelings?"

The rafiq's hands spread and gestured as he spoke, "You should _embrace_ them. They are what keep you human."

_Human. _It sometimes seemed a foreign word to Altaïr. His tongue worked before he could silence it, "What if I'm wrong? What if these men are not meant to die? What if they mean well? Misguided perhaps, but pure in motive." These were the troubles that had been on his mind for some time now.

The rafiq had no answers but to advise that Altaïr take this up with Al Mualim. Knowing that he was not alone in these feelings though reassured him more than expected and he thanked the old man before taking his leave. Altaïr chose not to linger longer than it took to restock for his journey. He had promises to keep before speaking to the Master.

He rode his horse hard toward Jerusalem. His questions and concerns filling his mind in the nights to plague is sleep along with terrors of drowning. He woke coughing and gasping as if his face were stuffed full of murky water. The sensation only worsened with each day he got closer to Jerusalem. He struggled to think clearly. He sneezed at inopportune moments. He coughed through the night till his chest hurt from the outer bruising and the strained muscles internally from coughing. He entered the city with the monks as opposed to the usual acrobatic entry he liked to make.

The sun was barely up when he arrived dragging lethargic feet to the roof of the Bureau. The sounds of clashing steel awakened Altaïr's nerves. He drew his sword and dropped through the lattice. Junayd tumbled across the carpets into Altaïr's feet, his practice sword clattered against the fountain. The boy spat out a colourful curse as Naheem cheered. Malik cuffed Naheem for his disrespect and would have cuffed Junayd for the cursing, but the boy was too far.

Altaïr sheathed his blade. With one hand, he hauled Junayd to his feet and pointed to the sword. Malik gave him a cursory glance as he continued the training. Altaïr slipped past them all avoiding the looks and not interfering further. He curled onto Malik's bed and sneezed for the umpteenth time. The sounds of training continued for another hour before Malik's instructions drifted into the back along with Naheem, who collected a packed bag and left hurriedly, cane in hand and too eager to waste time. Junayd babbled from the opening in the lattice various little hints and advice to help Naheem as they made their way out. Malik yelled from the open roofed room, "Be back in three days! And not injured! Or you are cleaning the blood from the carpets!"

_Malik always complains about yelling in his Bureau. Why does he do it?_ Altaïr sneezed into his hand.

Malik stood over him moments later. "Why is it you have to lay in MY bed when you come injured or ill? There is another easy to unroll right over there or the carpets and pillows outside." Malik peeled off his sweat-soaked clothes.

Altaïr pulled himself from the bed and left the room. "Fine," he grumbled hoarsely, "I know when I am not welcome."

"That is not… Altaïr!" Malik followed Altaïr, who shut him out till a hand grabbed his shoulder. "Altaïr**…** wait."

"I should get back to the Master. I should not have come here." Altaïr's tired grumpy words snapped out sharply.

Malik bristled, though he recognized the exhaustion in Altaïr's posture. "Why didn't you rest at the Bureau in Acre?"

"Because I need answers. Sibrand's words… they plague me. Dammit, they plague me! And the rafiq had no answers for me." He shrugged free of Malik. "I doubt I will get any here either. I've done my duty. I showed up. Naheem is away so I won't be training him. I should just go." He sneezed again into his hand.

Malik wrinkled his nose and dug a hand into one of Altaïr's pouched, handing him the soft cloth. "You are ill. You aren't going anywhere for a few days. Are you hurt from your mission?" Every effort was employed to remain polite after Altaïr's growls and accusation that Malik could not help him. "How did you manage to get sick? Did you drink the foul waters in Acre?"

That notion was preposterous. The truly foolish novices did such things. "Of course not!" Altaïr snapped back. "I was thrown into the waters at the dock."

"And what? Stayed damp? Didn't you ask for dry clothing at the Bureau? They are all equipped like this one, you know."

Altaïr hated Malik's condescending tone. Had he more energy, he would have lashed out. Instead he tugged his cowl lower and sat among the pillows to ignore Malik, who threw up his arm in frustration, muttering _stupid novice_ as he gathered a clean change of clothes for Altaïr. He kicked over the metal basins for washing not feeling very helpful while Altaïr growled and grumbled at his every move. Being ill was rare for Altaïr. He had no idea how to deal with it. He preferred being attacked from the outside and not the inside.

Altaïr refused all food, though he did wash and change his clothes. When Malik brought over the journal, Altaïr accepted it in silence and poured out the chaos of his thoughts in the worst of his writing skills onto those pages. He spent the afternoon rereading the mess of his thoughts through the pages, trying to make sense of himself. The urge to throw the journal was strong, but Malik was more the book thrower than Altaïr. He closed it when a sneezing fit turned into coughing. Every time Malik came close he snapped irritably at him. He just wanted everything to go away. Swallowing stung. Speaking stung more. Thinking was impossible through the thick soup and cotton clogging his head.

Sleeping occurred in little snippets on and off in the early evening, but by midnight he was too congested to lie down. He sat and coughed as if to cough out a lung. Malik could not sleep through that. A hand snaked under Altaïr's shirt when he was coughing to feel the air flow. That same hand then felt Altaïr's brow. He tried to shove it away. When asked to lie down to sleep, Altaïr refused. He could not breathe lying down. Malik brought over all the pillows to prop Altaïr up so he could sleep sitting up.

A pile of small rags manifested beside him with a basin to dump them in. _Better out than in._ Malik may have said those words several times. Altaïr could not recall if Malik spoke them aloud recently. He could not be sure if Malik referred to the stuff filling his nose and throat or the stuff filling his thoughts. Altaïr figured that Malik meant both. It was Malik's way to have double meanings. At least Malik never spoke cryptically. Altaïr complained about the cryptic messages from the dead and dying, as well as the cryptic dodging of the Master. He dozed a little longer till something stung through his senses, burning through his nose and lungs and causing his eyes to water.

* * *

A/N #2 – ouch! That anonymous review was painful to read. It was also helpful as a checking gauge point. Thanks for the critique. I do reread my chapters. I have a beta reader slowly working her way through the earlier chapters to catch my dyslexic moments. Some of the critique is what I suspected was starting to happen in my story, but other reviews did not reflect that so I was uncertain. The OC's were well liked and people wanted to see more of them. They are in place for other things needed in the story. As for historical accuracy… alas… fanfic liberty. I try to be historical or accurate in some things. I am unfortunately not in all things. Some books were recommended, if I can get them, I will.

A/N #3 - personal pet-peeve... I have always thought it a little cowardly to post reviews or critiques anonymously. Have the courage to sign up or into or at least leave contact information for counter explanations or queries for clarification. Also, anonymous reviews can be deleted by the fanfic authors.


	128. Chapter 128: Malik's VapoRub

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – some art for the last chapter:

http:/ the-evil-legacy .deviantart .com/art/AC-wait-2-color-146658962

* * *

Malik had a bad couple days with news of Nina and trying to sort that out. He even encountered her face to face in the market, but only for a moment. He dropped his scrolls and maps. In the blink of picking them up and trying to keep an eye on her, she vanished. He cursed aloud a few times; although, the string of curses were far more colourful and multilingual in his head. He welcomed the sword sparring the next morning. It helped vent some of his frustrations. However, Altaïr compounded his frustrated feelings and the day passed poorly between them.

In the night, he checked Altaïr after waking from one of Altaïr's worse coughing fits. He slid his hand under Altaïr's shirt as the assassin coughed. The coughing was hard, but did not feel like it rattled. Good. It meant no pneumonia. Pneumonia was a killer. He then pressed his hand to Altaïr's brow and frowned at the high fever. Altaïr shoved him away and shivered. Malik provided cloths for Altaïr to blow his illness into and cushions to help him sleep sitting up.

He searched his shelves for a infrequently used wooden jar with a wide top before carrying over several extra blankets. He tugged away Altaïr's current blankets despite protests. Opening the jar caused Altaïr to flinch and squint against the potent aroma. It was so rare for Altaïr to be this sick. Malik only recalled one other time Altaïr was ill like this, and it involved Acre as well, though was the result of Altaïr being trapped in a rain storm that blew in from the sea. Altaïr must have been about eighteen years old. He was a miserable patient then too.

Altaïr dozed a little longer till something stung through his senses, burning through his nose and lungs and causing his eyes to water.

"Off with your shirt," Malik ordered tired of Altaïr's grousing. The complaints of being cold did not phase him. "You have a fever, you only think you are cold. Off with the hood and shirt. I promise this will help."

Altaïr coughed some more as he wriggled tiredly out of his clothing and shivered against the chill night air. He glared at Malik who ignored the foul stare.

Malik put the wooden jar in Altaïr's hand since he only had one to use and not another to hold it. The whitish paste within stung Altaïr's eyes and nose again and again. He winced against it as Malik rubbed a generous amount into Altaïr's chest. He gently encouraged Altaïr to lift his chin a little as he rubbed some of the paste onto Altaïr's throat. He sat back and waited as the next coughing fit wracked Altaïr's body. "Give me your back." Altaïr turned, resting his head on one of the pillows against the wall. Malik scooped another generous amount of paste from the jar and rubbed it all over Altaïr's back.

Already Malik could hear Altaïr breathing a little deeper and coughing less hard. He bundled Altaïr in the many blankets, even over his head, to sweat out the cold. "Keep your eyes closed." Malik dabbed a small amount of the paste on Altaïr's brow and down between his eyes and across the bridge of his nose. Altaïr opened his eyes to see what was going on and instantly regretted the act as fumes from the paste stung so badly his eyes streamed water. "Stupid novice. I told you to keep your eyes closed."

Malik returned to his own bed for whatever might be left of the night. If Altaïr coughed again, it was not loud enough to wake Malik, nor constant enough to worry him. In the morning he bought lemons and pears from the market then sat on the carpets next to Altaïr to read through Altaïr's journal while the assassins slept.

A less grumpy Altaïr accepted hot lemon juice with honey around lunch. He moved to Malik's back room onto the spare mattress where he slept away most of the afternoon. Malik worried about Altaïr not eating so he sliced up the pears and set the plate between the wall and Altaïr's face. He retreated to read and watched from a discreet distance as Altaïr picked at the pear pieces. Malik smiled to himself, pleased that he knew that Altaïr's favourite fruit was pear. Altaïr later even had stew for dinner and slept more. Malik knew the sleeping was part of Altaïr's healing process and that the great eagle would be well by morning tomorrow or the next day.

In a voice Malik could not recognize for how hoarse it was, Altaïr asked if Malik could rub more of the foul paste on him. "What is in it?" Altaïr muttered roughly.

Malik could not help but feel impressed that Altaïr actually asked for aid. He was even more impressed as Altaïr sat with enough room for Malik to move around him. Malik stood still with the jar just registering the scene before him, memorizing it in case it never happens again. Altaïr sat cross-legged with only sleeping pants on. His upper body and even his head remained bare. The scars stood out on his body, but the bruises had nearly faded to faint discolouring. Altaïr rested his hands on his knees waiting patiently. He had even closed his eyes offering trust to Malik. So much had changed in Altaïr, asking for help and offering trust. More and more, Malik knew this was no longer the Altaïr he once knew and hated. It was more the Altaïr he had trusted and loved. Although Malik doubted either of them was ready for that last feeling to resurface.

Several unbidden thoughts stole their way into Malik's mind as he rubbed the vaporous paste into Altaïr's muscular back. Naheem's wet dreams that woke Malik invaded his thoughts. He had ignored them as best he could and felt wrong and dirty for sometimes watching the beautiful teen. Yet Naheem was really too soft for Malik's tastes. He preferred firm muscle and sharp angles. Naheem, though cute, was well, cute, like children to him. Altaïr however, was exactly what he liked in a man's body. It was mildly distracting to rub the paste onto Altaïr, over the uninjured body.

He stopped a moment letting the fumes remind him of his task. Altaïr held the jar for him and obediently kept his eyes closed this time. Malik moved around and rubbed the paste into Altaïr's chest and throat. With the remains making his fingers gooey, he very gently traced over Altaïr's brow and nose. Altaïr breathed in deeply and slowly. "I promised it would help."

"You have always kept your promises," whispered Altaïr.

Malik wiped his hands on a rag as Altaïr closed the jar for him. "Do you want to talk about what happened? About these things in your thoughts? I've read your journal." He placed his hand over one of Altaïr's. Those golden orbs opened to regard him. "You are not crazy. Confused, yes, and justified to be so. But not crazy." He wanted Altaïr to really understand that. The relief of those words read clearly in Altaïr's eyes. "Your questions are my own. You are right. I don't have the answers, but we can discuss the situation if you want." Altaïr simply nodded.

Malik left to make some more hot lemon and honey to drink and to light some incense against the strong medicinal menthol odour that filled the Bureau. They spoke long and late into the night puzzling together the problems and cryptic messages. Both concluded that there was indeed another traitor among the ranks, and fairly high up. Although, that traitor could not be so close to Al Mualim after the last incident. However, it could be one of the ranked scholars or maybe a team including a trainer. It had to be one or two people who knew all the information but also could deploy novices or lesser ranked assassins.

Altaïr coughed less that night to Malik's relief. Malik covertly watched Altaïr sleep that night. His physical loneliness and desire to reach out and touch nagged at him and kept him awake. He dared not invade Altaïr's space though. They were not on those kinds of intimate terms. The trust was so limited and fragile. After what had happened to Altaïr with Al Mualim over the years, Malik doubted Altaïr was ready to be intimate in a healthy way, especially since he read in the journal that there was another incident the last time Altaïrmet with Master Al Mualim.

He didn't want Altaïr going back to see Al Mualim. Malik clenched his teeth wanting to write a strong letter to the master of the assassins order and tell him bluntly how he felt about how morally wrong the man has been and how it is men like that that they assassinate. Yet, somewhere in Malik's mind he could justify Al Mualim's means, they were older methods of training and Al Mualim was older. _In some dream world, I am running the Order and I have a very different but just as effective training scheme. It is working well for Junayd and Naheem so far._

In his dreams, his brother is alive, he has both his arms, and he actually co-runs the order with Altaïr… and Altaïr is his lover. These were hard secrets he never shared. It caused him to toss and turn through the night depressively till somehow he was soothed. A wide hand missing the ring finger rubbed up and down his back till deeper sleep found Malik.

* * *

A/N #2 – Here is some literary information:

**Canon Characters:** These are main characters that your fan fiction is based around and are main to the original story you took them from. (Malik, Altaïr, and Al Mualim)

**OC's (Other Characters):** Are other people featured regularly whose roles are almost equal to the main canon characters. They are main characters that are not canon. (Naheem)

**Secondary Characters:** These are characters that support the story. They make frequent appearances, but are not driving forces. They play secondary roles to the main characters. (Junayd and Tibah… and later Maria though she is also canon)

**Tertiary Characters:** These are sometimes known as context characters. They are not really important to the storyline or plot, but help fill out the story and give your main and secondary characters people to interact with. (Tibah's father, Guard Kadar, Abby, the Old Dai, the Father Informant and his family, the Rafiqs of the other Bureaus)

**Plot Devices:** These are people, places, things, situations, etc. that help form and move the plot. They are sometimes hints to what is to come or will help define another characters or the actions in the plot. They are featured usually briefly and they may become references a while but once their role is over in the plot, then they are gone. (Altaïr 's assassination targets, Robert de Sable, the Hunter, Nina, Altaïr's son by Nina)


	129. Chapter 129: Altair and the Creed

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik**_

A/N #1 – deviations done now to pull things back on track. Alt x Mal… and the main plot… hard secrets between them. The things they never say between each other as they struggle with the overarching storyline of AC1. What have they learned so far? Altaïr has come to trust Malik more, understand he can share his confusions with him, know that despite the rift between them Altaïr will still be aided. Malik has realized that Altaïr is not really responsible for his brother's death nor the loss of his arm. Those were things in the secret plots with a traitor. Malik is rediscovering his desire to be with Altaïr, to help heal him of the traumas and faintly hopes they might one day have a healthy relationship. Altaïr is not yet ready to face that part of himself, not in any healthy way… yet. Rock bottom is close, Altaïr seems to surface before he drowns every time so far. Malik wonders when the true drowning will happen, when Altaïr till hit the bottom of the pit and prays Altaïr doesn't start to dig when he hits that bottom.

* * *

A wide hand missing the ring finger rubbed up and down his back till deeper sleep found Malik. The sun had a long way before it would rise above the horizon. Altaïr thought about all they had discussed earlier. He could not sleep. He had slept so much over the past few days while he was ill. Now he was very awake with his mind very busy. Talking about it all helped him sort it out and find the questions he needed to ask. He had really thought he was losing his mind. Everything he had been taught versus the messages he received in the fog contradicted each other.

Quietly, Altaïr crept to the little kitchen area and sought food. Everything needed to be cooked there. He rolled one of the fresh pears in his hands as he silently padded out to the main room. A bowl of more fruit sat out there for any of the assassins or informants who might come by. He helped himself to plums in addition to his pear. His eyes adjusted to the dimness easily as he ate.

A map of Jerusalem stretched itself across the counter. Several used and in need of care blades stood in a large brass pot and leaned lazily against the wall. Altaïr poked through everything as he usually did. He considered writing in his journal some more, but felt too restless at the moment. In the back of his mind he barely recalled his arrival. Naheem and Junayd were sparring with open steel. Did Malik hold a blade then? Was Malik still good enough? His face wrinkled in mild annoyance when he remembered that Malik had outdone him in push-ups, one-handed.

Altaïr strode over to the chess board neatly laid out and missing the bishop piece. Altaïr refused to give up his little Malik talisman of the bishop piece. He also derived secret pleasure knowing that a missing piece must bother Malik to no end for Malik never loses things. Malik had never mentioned the missing piece, though. Maybe Malik knew he had it? Altaïr could only wonder.

Altaïr wondered a great many things as he walked about the room. Malik's caustic words over the year never left him. He was always a failure in the man's eyes, always a novice, always doing the wrong thing. The fact that Malik agreed with him on something or admitted that Altaïr did something right was rare. He craved those rare moments. He wanted more of them. _Do assassins have to be so alone? Do they always have to fly solo like an eagle that has lost its life mate? _Altaïr was the great eagle. And, he had lost the only friend he ever had. He wondered if in the struggle to redeem himself in the eyes of his Master and the brotherhood, that he might redeem himself in Malik's eyes.

He sniffed at the incense pot and poked his finger in the coals and ash. It was cold. Missing that comforting aroma, he set in a new coal and lit it then added a small scoop of the incense. He winced at the abundance of smoke and hoped it dissipated soon. He was not so skilled as Malik and clearly, Malik knew the right amount to add to avoid this mishap.

He stroked his hands over some of the softer pillows before settling down on the carpets to meditate and think more. Truth… truth was so elusive. _Nothing is true. Everything is permitted._ The lesson from AL Mualim rolled in his mind. He had taken it so literally before, but now he questioned that perspective. What if the lesson was as cryptic as all the other messages? Then perhaps this message had a different meaning, a deeper meaning.

A scrap of paper peaked from under a pillow. Altaïr pulled it free and read it slowly. It was the Creed written in very fine script, not Malik's, in several languages.

_Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent._ But who was innocent, really? Altaïr thought back to Malik's accusation in Solomon's Temple a year ago. Altaïr had killed a man outside the entrance. Was that man innocent? Was he not a lookout, guarding the entry and waiting to give warning? Did that not make him culpable, an accomplice to Robert de Sable? What about the list of nine men Altaïr was targeting now? Some, especially Sibrand, seemed innocent. It left Altaïr wondering where and when he actually had broken that tenet of the Creed.

_Hide in plain sight._ Walk invisibly among the people. Yet as he thought, history lessons surfaced. Assassins once targeted the impossible dangers, did the impossible missions. They did them suicidally. The assassin used to take out the target in public, making a huge scene, thus giving a clear message. They inevitably were cut down later. Altaïr still followed some of that tactic, giving a clear message with the death of a significant figure in a very public manner, however he managed to survive. Altaïr frowned thinking more on that and realized, that without Malik he would never have survived. Sometimes, there was no choice about being hidden or not. Altaïr was a master at both, but would easily abandon the hidden position for the opportunity to make a good kill.

_Never compromise the Brotherhood._ As far as Altaïr was concerned, he had never, not ever broken this tenet. The Sibrand mission rose again in his mind. Not the actual kill, nor the experience on the docks, but what surfaced was the incident with the poor old monk who died innocently in Altaïr's stead. His public kills identified him as an assassin. People knew to look for those dressed like Altaïr. In that sense, Altaïr conceded that he had indeed broken this tenet and more than just the Brotherhood was suffering for his mistake.

Altaïr shoved the paper back under the pillow and paced over to the secret door to the back room. He really should not be here. He really should be in Masyaf. He really didn't belong in the back area that was reserved for Malik alone or the injured that Malik needed to care for. He lifted the edge and watched Malik sleep from his hidden position. _When I am done the Master's missions, when I have redeemed myself, I will apologise for all the wrongs I have done you. I will beg for your forgiveness. Will you be willing then to give me your friendship?_

_

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_

A/N #2 – Still sick. Still no homework done. Moving to a new home in 2 weeks. Hope you like the all- Altaïr chapter.


	130. Chapter 130: Malik's Free Eagle

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Changing hearts really stay the same.

* * *

Altaïr really should not be here. He really should be in Masyaf. He felt that he really didn't belong in the back area either as that was reserved for Malik alone or the injured that Malik needed to care for. He lifted the edge of the fake wall/curtain and watched Malik sleep from his hidden position.

The hours snaked by without Malik noticing until the room seemed warmer and somehow emptier. He sat up and scrubbed his scalp with his fingers, yawning. He looked over to Altaïr's bed, but Altaïr was nowhere. He sighed heavily. _He is gone… again. _It was to be expected.

Malik dressed and readied for the day. He could hear the novices returning as he prepared breakfast. "It's easy! You just jump and land." Junayd instructed. The boy dropped into the Bureau with an unceremonious tumble that caused Malik to chuckle hearing it.

"That was rather graceless, novice," Naheem called down to Junayd.

The boy made a face at Naheem. "Let's see you do better!"

"I'm injured. I don't have to do better," the teen retorted.

Malik nearly dropped the eggs on the floor when he heard Altaïr's low deep voice, "You can and will do better, novice Naheem. Roll like I taught you back in the ruined church." A soft thud and grunt soon followed and Malik knew Naheem obeyed the master assassin.

_So he did stay._ Malik decided to dally in the back room eavesdropping on Altaïr who now had the dubious honour of morning training with the two novices. Malik added another couple eggs to breakfast. He doubted Altaïr would stay after breakfast. Considering their talk last night, Altaïr really had to get back to Al Mualim. Answers were needed. A traitor had to be revealed.

He stole a moment to spy through the curtain at the training. All three sat on the carpets for morning prayer at Junayd's insistence. Malik returned to the eggs smirking because he knew how irreverent Altaïr could be. He imagined all the rude thoughts that Altaïr likely had running through his head but was not voicing out of respect for the novices. Interesting, Altaïr respected the novices. Malik approved of this new turn of personality.

Reluctantly, Malik stepped out with breakfast. He gave breakfast to the novices, excluding Altaïr. What he gave Altaïr was a challenge. "You, novice, I challenge you to short blades with a master." Golden eyes narrowed at Malik. In silence, Altaïr stood to accept the challenge. He tugged his hood to hide his features and retrieved a short blade for them both from the collection in the brass pot. Malik found the silence disturbing sometimes, but that was Altaïr's way. Say nothing, show nothing, act only. "Watch and learn, boys." Malik also kept a straight face, eyes cold charcoal.

Junayd and Naheem climbed a ladder to sit on the ledge that ran the circumference of the main room. It kept them both safely out of the way and gave them the very best view of the morning fight. Neither really knew if this would be just a sparring or if this would be a real fight.

For that matter, Malik didn't either. Altaïr was emotionally unstable as far as Malik was concerned. The wrong move could cause him to snap. However, Malik felt very sure of his skills. He knew he was Altaïr's better with a sword and short blade.

Naheem cheered for Altaïr and Junayd cheered for Malik. The blades clashed, Malik almost received an elbow to the face, but he moved with the motion and it glanced off his jaw. Altaïr carried more strength, but Malik knew the room better. Altaïr's blade clattered off a wall in a wide sweep that Malik ducked under. A small shove and Altaïr bumped into a table. Their blades rang out against each other. The sheering sound of steel sliding along steel in attempts to disarm hurt the ears and made the watchers cringe.

The hilts locked in close range. Gold battled charcoal for the stronger will. The silent surprise that Malik was still very good read clearly in Altaïr's eyes. The corner of Malik's mouth turned up in the thrill of the fight, his blood thrumming joyfully in his ears knowing he was going to win this, knowing he was still a master. At least until a punch hit his shoulder and his blade flew from his hand with a twist of Altaïr's blade. Malik cursed, turned, and snatched a sword from the brass pot.

Altaïr may have been unrelenting, but he fought better in the open. Malik, however, had been training all year in this Bureau in case Templars attacked it. For almost 15 minutes, Junayd and Naheem watched the blur of movements unsure who was winning. In perhaps less than ten more strokes, Altaïr's blade flew over the counter. Malik pounced, sword singing through the air to cut hood and cheek. Altaïr lay pinned to the ground panting, his hidden blade having snapped out ineffectually. As fierce as the shine was in both their eyes, they both grinned at each other.

Malik felt very alive this one moment kneeling on one knee over a defeated Altaïr. That Altaïr grinned back hinted to Malik that Altaïr was not yet lost, not the Altaïr he once knew as teens. He tossed the sword into the brass pot as Altaïr sat up readjusting his armour and weapons. "You two novices can come down now. Find some paper and write a full report of what you saw and learned from this. I expect to see it finished within the next couple hour." The novices scrambled to do Malik's bidding. "I have to see Altaïr off."

Naheem stopped still midway through collecting his cane, "Master Altaïr is leaving already? He practically just got here."

Malik gave him a stern look. "After a completed mission, every assassin must report back to the one who set him on the hunt. Altaïr must return to Masyaf." The novices sighed in disappointment.

Malik guides Altaïr into the back and stocked up the supply pouches. "You can help yourself to throwing knives from the trunk. Oh, and here's a fresh cowl." Altaïr's remained silent as Malik dabbed some ointment onto the cut he gave Altaïr. "Altaïr… did you let me win?"

"No. I did just recover from being ill though." It was not exactly an excuse.

"Next time, don't hold back. I…" Malik wanted to really know if he could hold his own. He did well today, but it was the first real fight against someone he had had in a little over a year. "I hope you find answers in Masyaf."

Altaïr lingered no longer. His robes fluttered like feathered wings on his run the Bureau. The novices watched in awe as he took flight. Malik watched from behind the counter. _If you love something, set it free. If it comes back…_

_

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_

A/N #2 – kidavi art

http:/ kidavi .deviantart .com/art/Malik-and-Altair-155324222


	131. Chapter 131: Altair: So Close to Free

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Inspired by songs… concluded in riddles. Everything is true, nothing is permitted. Freedom is a lie. The world is an illusion. Wish my work and my sick were an illusion. Sorry for the slowness.

A/N #2 – and I start the chapter off with a PICTURE!

http:/ mospineq .deviantart .com/art/Through-the-Kingdom-140335306

* * *

Altaïr lingered no longer. His robes fluttered like feathered wings on his run the Bureau. The novices watched in awe as he took flight. Malik watched from behind the counter. _If you love something, set it free. If it comes back…_

Altaïr hated the grey speckled horsed for just this reason. The hooves pounded the sand, kicking up bits as arrows zinged by narrowly missing Altaïr. Always the speckled ones. The solid black ones ran away from him. The brown ones were dumb and never followed or stayed or did as they were told. He liked the dark ones with the white feet and white streak on their noses. Of them all, none attracted archers like these grey speckled one. Oh how he hated them and swore the second he could change horses he would.

The horse stumbled when an arrow caught the lower foreleg. Altaïr leapt from the saddle and rolled in the dust over a rocky ledge. He hung there, clung there, while the soldiers ran over to see if he survived. They looked over the edge cautiously, but could not see him. They decided he fell to his death and walked away. Altaïr hung there adjusting his grip now and then for what felt like an hour. It was probably only fifteen minutes, but his fingers ached and burned just the same. In the quiet, he pulled himself up and crept from bush to tree to building to hay stack.

The little fort town was crawling with soldiers. He cursed and snuck into a building's roof storage room. He would have to wait out the day and try to sneak past them at night. He hoped there would be fewer in the night. Taking on thirty to a hundred men in narrow streets or on rooftops where they can only come at him a few at a time was one matter. Taking on that many all at once in the open like this was suicide, even for Altaïr. He might dance the edge but self-preservation always kicked in, usually. He was not stupid. He was too close to redemption to give up now.

Other than that little delay, Altaïr made good time to Masyaf. His stomach clenched as he crossed the main gates into the city. Sweat dampened his back and slid down his spine as he climbed the stairs to meet the Master. He shied at the top of the stairs dropping his eyes so his hood shadowed his expression.

The Master embraced him, "Welcome home, child. What news?"

The casual affection Altaïr received so openly from the Master baffled him. It had been ever so long since the Master behaved fatherly with fatherly comfort and fatherly praise, the kind Altaïr craved. "Another set of names have been put to rest."

"Then it would appear your work is nearly complete, and your status restored." The Master strode with joyous steps around his desk to the windows.

All the questions Altaïr wanted to ask flew like startled pigeons from his mind. _My status is restored. I am nearly fully redeemed._ He almost pushed his hood back to look the Master in the eye, but chose not to. He was not entirely there yet.

The Master did not miss the gesture. His one eyes seemed to see all as he rested a hand over the golden ball on the desk. "You have questions." It was a statement of fact as though he were omniscient.

Again Altaïr dropped his eyes. "Yes," he struggled to try to remember something of the conversation he had had Malik. In the end his thoughts settled on only the last items of concern, "Why these men? Jubair and Sibrand?"

Al Mualim frowned and spoke with disappointment as if to a dull witted child, "Don't you see? They pave the way for change; ensure threats both old and new are not given cause to intervene. Were these men to continue their work, our work would quickly be undone."

"I suppose that makes sense," although Altaïr didn't feel so certain. "We've caused them much grief."

"We fight a hydra, cutting at only its arms. It will be quick to replace them."

Golden eyes sharpened, "Then we should cut off its head!"

"Soon, soon." The Master spoke almost as if he knew the head of the hydra personally. It frustrated Altaïr. He was eager to take on his final target. "Come into my study, I have questions for you."

Altaïr tensed, feet rooted in place as his pulse raced. He watched the Master lift the shining ball and enter the private study. The feeling to run or fight warred with his desire to end his enemy and redeem himself truly. In the end, his desire won and he took slow cautious steps into the study, already removing his armour and weapons, knowing what lay ahead.

Al Mualim patiently regarded the well-trained assassin, **his** well-trained assassin. He had almost lost control of Altaïr after the fiasco at Solomon's Temple. Altaïr had already started rebelling and tugging his chains. Malik too had begun to seek answers that were forbidden, exploring secrets that were Al Mualim's alone. Solomon's Temple and Robert de Sable served a fine purpose. He had expected Altaïr to retrieve the Piece of Eden and Kadar and Malik to be dead, not for Malik to return with the treasure and Altaïr to have failed. Though, the situation served him better as a tool to control them both. Now, Malik was too far to be a problem, kept ignorant of whatever might be going on in Masyaf. Now, Altaïr was well broken, severed from Malik's support and friendship, serving Al Mualim without any bucking.

Altaïr behaved like a tranquilized hooded eagle with AL Mualim, and yet in his quiet state of submission and desperation for redemption, his mind suddenly needed to know things. He asked difficult questions. The Master evaded or manipulated or answered well enough to quench the sudden thirst for knowledge. After stripping Altaïr of all rank and reputation, the Master once again did not even have to ask Altaïr to assume the position. He just waited. The last time he bent Altaïr over the desk was the final breaking of his spirit. He knew it well, as he anchored that brief moment of bliss when he took Altaïr over the edge, addicting him to that moment and that feeling.

Altaïr set aside his armour and weapons, then his cowl and robes and boots. His eyes never rose higher than his Master's waist. There was a brief moment, a flicker, in Altaïr's eyes when he wondered what he had to do and if he had to do it. The Master set the treasure upon the far side of the desk and tapped his cane on the edge. Altaïr's stomach flipped over and muscled clenched against the expected intrusion. He started to remove his shirt when his Master stopped him, pushing him gently down over the desk clothed simply as he was.

Altaïr's brow touched over Jerusalem on the desk map. His eyes scrunched shut as he forced his breathing to remain steady and neutralize his expression. When that blankness came, he opened his eyes to see the treasure before him.

"What is Truth?" asked the Master as his cane tapped with his steps.

Altaïr's thoughts drifted back to the quiet moment in Jerusalem before he replied, "We place faith in ourselves; we see the world the way it really is, and hope that, one day, all mankind might see the same." It was a merge of the lessons he learned from his victims in the fog.

"What is the world, then?" The Master asked next.

Even as Altaïr answered, he wondered why he submitted. "An illusion. One which we can either submit to; as most do, or transcend."

"What is it to transcend?" the Masters hand brushed gently down Altaïr's back.

Altaïr breathed in the sensation, the desire for that comfort from those he wanted some kind of normalcy. He stared at the metal ball that meant nothing to him. "To recognize nothing is true, and everything is permitted. That laws arise, not from divinity, but reason. I understand now that our creed does not command us to be free; it commands us to be _wise_."

"Do you see now why the Templars are a threat?" The master walked again around Altaïr and the desk to rest his hand over his treasure.

Altaïr blinked as realization came. "Where as we would dispel the illusion; they would use it to rule."

The Master sounded pleases as he motioned with a slight gesture for Altaïr to rise. "Yes. To reshape the world in an image more pleasing to them. That is why I sent you to steal their treasure. That is why I keep it locked away. And that is why you kill them. So long as even _one_ survives, so too does their desire to create a new world order." The Master commanded Altaïr with pride, "Take your equipment."

Altaïr did as he was told, dressing and strapping on his armour and weapons, surprised at the turn of events. He had pleased his master well apparently.

"Safety and peace upon you, Altaïr. We will speak more in the morning."

It was a dismissal and a reminder that Altaïr still wore a leash. Altaïr was not sure if he minded the leash. Today's encounter was exceptionally good. In the eyes of his mentor and father figure, he had done well. Even as he lay in his room on his bed, he felt excited. Tomorrow he would get his final mission for redemption. In the back of his mind nagged a small voice, sounding much like Malik, that warned him of the wrongness of his feelings. He wanted to be angry at Malik for it. _Why? Why is this wrong? It isn't wrong. I am doing the right thing._ But the thoughts remained. He needed to act, to ask, to do something to justify it all, to make it make sense. When he was with Malik things made sense. Then he would leave and be here and different things made sense. In the end, nothing made sense. He slept fitfully for his wandering mind.

"Come in, my student," the Master greeted him warmly in the morning and coaxed him into the private study. "We have much to discuss. We are close, Altaïr... Robert de Sable is now all that stands between us and victory. It's his mouth that gives the order, his hands that pay the gold. With him dies the knowledge of the Templar treasure, and any threat it might pose."

Altaïr gestured disinterestedly at the metal ball, "I still don't understand how a simple piece of treasure can cause so much chaos." It seemed so much as if this ball were something magical or divine, or at least treated as such and as fought over as some holy places of late. _Why can't people use reason and abandon these ridiculous notions of God and devices of sorcery?_

"The Piece of Eden is temptation given form. Merely look at what it had done to Robert. Once he had tasted of its power, the thing consumed him. He didn't see it so much a dangerous weapon to be destroyed, but a tool, one that will help him realize his life's ambition." Altaïr seemed to challenge the Master still, reasoning out and struggling for understanding. Al Mualim used all his skill to stay ahead of Altaïr.

Frowning deeply, Altaïr commented, "He dreamed of power then."

**"**Yes and no. He dreamed, and still dreams, like us, of peace."

This was contradictory to all Altaïr understood. "But this is a man who sought to see the Holy Land consumed by war!"

The Master threw his arms up and Altaïr thought how often Malik did that when frustrated with something Altaïr said or did. "No, Altaïr. How can you not see when you are the one that opened my eyes to this?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do he and his followers want? A world in which all men are united. I do not despise his goal, I share it, but I take issue with the means. Peace is something to be learned, to be understood, to be embraced." Explained Al Mualim.

"He would force it!" Altaïr snapped.

The Master added calmly, "And rob us of our free will in the process. Never harbor hate for your victims, Altaïr. Such thoughts are poison, and will cloud your judgment."

Although Altaïr hated Robert de Sable enough for both he and Malik and Kadar, reason made him ask, "Could he not be convinced then, to end his mad quest?"

"I spoke to him, in my way, through you." The Master saw the struggle in Altaïr, the confusion born of hard secrets not yet shared. He had to make sure he did not yet lose control of his well-trained hunting eagle. "What was each killing if not a message? But he has chosen to ignore us."

Altaïr resolved the inner conflict as he came into accord with his reasoning and his desires. "Then there's only one thing left to do..."

"Jerusalem is where you've faced him first. It's where you'll find him again. Let this final offering lend you strength. Go, Altaïr. It's time to finish this." Al Mualim rode Altaïr feral nature on this and handed him the finest sword of the assassins, the one that was once Altaïr and now he had earned it back for his final kill for redemption.

Altaïr's excitement was tempered like fine steel in a forge with the knowledge that hunting Robert would not be easy and certainly not swift. He may not yet be in Jerusalem, but surely would be there when he finally killed him. He would get to keep several promises. He'd be able to help train Naheem as he hunted. He would spend time with both Naheem and Malik. He would avenge Kadar and Malik.

He would return to Masyaf victorious and once again be recognized as the Master Assassin. Although, he had learned much and did not really feel he wanted the glory of the position, just not the disdain he received without it. Would that disdain be gone once he is restored to his full rank? _What would Malik say? Will I be redeemed in his eyes? Or will I forever fly alone? _

Thoughts of Naheem in those curious intimate moments trailed him as he rode out of Masyaf.

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A/N #3 – For a previous chapter of Naheem and Altaïr in the ruined church, someone did this picture! Thanks so much! *blush… fan art for my fic*

http:/ she-assassin .deviantart .com/art/Sleeping-Assassins-174889877


	132. Chapter 132: Malik's Arrangement

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Plot-Bunnies visited me in my sleep and advised of stuff for the fic. We will see how the story manifests and if it follows the plot-bunny advise. It has a life of its own after all. I do promise Nina in a few chapters, some slash, and some great fights… if I can manage to write a fight. It might just be a horrible but brief explosion, the kind only Altaïr is known for… with Malik on the end of it. Then I need to tear Altaïr down to nothing so he can rebuild and realize.

A/N #2 – sorry for the tardiness of the chapter. Just recovering from being sick and from being mad at the laptop whose battery ran out before I saved. Lost half this chapter and had to start over.

* * *

Thoughts of Naheem in those curious intimate moments trailed Altaïr as he rode out of Masyaf.

Naheem woke from a blood rushing dream around dawn. His sleeping clothes were damp with sweat. An uncomfortable wetness in his crotch was accompanied by a somewhat familiar stickiness that make him quietly curse as he checked the pillows he was curled with. He spat another curse.

"Just wash them," Malik spoke from over a map. Naheem wanted to die, swallowed in the stone floor or drowned in the fountain would do nicely too. Malik could not sleep through the rutting sounds he heard emanating from under the lattice roof. He awoke and worked on a map denying his secret spying and desires while he listened in on Naheem till the teen woke.

Naheem was relieved that Malik was not angry as Altaïr implied he might be. Maybe Malik had a good night and so was in a good mood? Naheem went about shyly washing his sleep clothes, the pillows and taking a bath while Malik prepared breakfast.

"You are walking well with the cane," Malik commented casually. "I think we will walk out together today. We will go visit Tibah's father."

"Is this? This is an arranged marriage, isn't it? What if she hates me? What if she doesn't want to marry me?" having grown up as the product of such an arrangement, Naheem was less certain of this decision despite his personal interest in the cute girl. His parents were an arranged marriage and his mother was never very happy with it.

"I understand your reticence. Naheem, I will not force this on you." Malik took in a deep breath. "I won't force you. Tibah is my mistake, my problem and thus my responsibility. I don't think she nor her family should die neither because she had figured out too much on her own, nor because I am a fool and did not discourage her advances. If you really do not want this, I will marry her." That was the truth. Malik did not like it, but that was the bottom line. "I just thought… I thought that since you seemed to like her a little that we might try this. Although, if her father disapproves of you, then it is a moot point as he already approves of me." He stabbed at his breakfast.

"You have really no interest in her at all," Naheem observed. He suspected that Malik had interests in, as much as it didn't make that much sense, boys, or maybe just Altaïr. He supposed guys could, but didn't the holy books forbid that? Didn't the laws of man forbid that? He had to admit, he was curious a bit at how men might engage and what it might feel like, however his primary interest was truly in cute girls like Tibah.

"No, I have no interest in her like that at all."

"I understand." Naheem had eaten through his meal and almost eyed Malik's. Recognizing the hungry eyes of a teen in his growth spurt from his experience of a younger brother, Malik pushed his plate over to Naheem who happily availed himself of the extra food. Malik chuckled a little watching.

They walked in silence, Naheem limping and leaning on the cane, though truly moving much better. It no longer really hurt to walk. Climbing and fighting ached though. Malik paused only slightly as they passed the place where he was sure Nina lived.

When they paused again to sit and rest from the heat, Naheem asked several hard questions that dug at several hard secrets. "Was that… _her_ place we paused at? I heard a baby inside." Malik nodded. Naheem rubbed the slight ache in his leg that started from the very long walk. "Why can't we just approach her? We could protect her and it wouldn't be so bad if she stayed in Masyaf."

Malik's eyes slid sideways to the teen. "She hates all that we are out of anger that she cannot be one of us. It is not a woman's place. She was especially angry with Altaïr. She had run and chooses not to return. And truth be told, that baby is rather special being Altaïr's." He wasn't sure he ought to explain to Naheem why. It would sound very crazy.

"So? I know Altaïr is special. It is a given that his son would be too. I just still don't understand."

Malik turned a little on the bench. "This is not a conversation for out here."

They sat in silence a few moments more before Naheem broke it again, "What if he doesn't approve of me? Is there anything he might dislike? Something I should or should not say or do? What if he doesn't want Tibah marrying someone like…" His hand gripped the cane as he avoided saying the word cripple. Logically there was no reason for the man to disapprove of someone ruined by an injury if he already approved of Malik as a suitor. He just felt nervous with bugs bouncing in his stomach.

Malik stood and held out his hand to help the teen to his feet. As they started walking, Malik addressed these sensitive issues. "He should like you just fine, Naheem. You are his daughter's age. You are handsome in a sinfully adorable way that anyone would want to touch and be with," He regretted those words as they came out. He will see that and know his daughter would like the look of you. You are not a cripple. How many times must I tell you that? You are healing, that is all. Healing simply takes time and you are very close to completely healed. Say nothing of the Brotherhood. You are my nephew in from the loss of your family in a raid on your way here. You were injured in that raid if he asks. You are staying with me while you heal and learning the arts and craft of map making and scribing since you have remarkable skill. Don't be arrogant about that skill." He knew Naheem would not be, the teen was too surprised that anyone found what he did as useful at all.

Malik offered an encouraging smile, "You will be fine. And I am greatly indebted that you are willing to do this for me. If at any time you want back out, you just say so."

"I won't back out. I understand that somethings even like this is a mission, a duty. I do it because it is right and because I care." His naked honesty made Malik so deeply proud of the novice he sniffed back his emotions from showing and explained the dampness in his eyes as sand.

"I don't get to be intimate with Tibah till I have married her, though, right?"

Naheem's questions came out so casually that Malik stumbled from it. He stopped walking and slapped his hand into his face with an embarrassed groan. Naheem tried hard to stay stoic, but his playful grin forced its way through, deeply dimpling his cheeks, till he could contain himself no more and laughed at the joke he succeeded in pulling on his Master Malik. It earned him a light-hearted cuff on the back of the head.

A/N #3 – A question was raised about Adha. I did not know Altaïr was present at her death. I have not played ANY of the other games except the original AC 1 game. The mentions of Adha have been taken from websites where either that tidbit was not included or I simply missed seeing it. I will not make changes to my story though. By the way, I will never likely play anything with Ezio in it. I cannot stand his character. There is too much stereotyped Gino-isms that it bugs the crap out of me.

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A/N #4 – **hammeh** – thanks so much for the great review. You named some of my own favourite comedic moments, though I add Altaïr freaking out about lice to your list.


	133. Chapter 133: Altair frayed: YAOI

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Ahhh… back in the swing of things with a little YAOI. Altaïr is such a messed up man… It will indeed come to a head at some point… that point is coming bit by bit.

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Naheem tried hard to stay stoic, but his playful grin forced its way through, deeply dimpling his cheeks, till he could contain himself no more and laughed at the joke he succeeded in pulling on his Master Malik. It earned him a light-hearted cuff on the back of the head.

While Malik thought he might go grey from having a hormonal teen around, he was relieved at the remarkably healthy attitude about sexuality and sense of self that Naheem exhibited. Altaïr, on the other hand, would surely suck the color out of Malik's hair. Good thing it ran in Malik's family that greying did not happen till very very late in life. Altaïr hand anything but a healthy attitude about sex or self.

During the trip to Masyaf, Altaïr had mulled over in his head the last time he had seen the Master. He had concluded that perhaps that last… lesson… was not really a punishment. He was being shown bliss so he co8uld recognize it when he encountered it again. In a way, Altaïr had twisted the memory of the experience into a reward.

So, riding away from Masyaf, Altaïr though back on this experience where the Master practically did not even touch him. He wondered if he had actually done something wrong, questioned too much. The distancing bothered him. He felt like he was being cut loose, like he would soon no longer be needed. His mind mashed together so many thoughts from one day to the next on his route.

He found he longed for that bliss, for that one moment where perfection seemed to overtake his senses. He wanted to feel it again and could not figure out how to accomplish that. Malik was definitely not the right place to turn. In the privacy of his nooks and roofs for sleeping, he even considered modifying tools and using objects for his pleasures. They never really sufficed and he gave up in frustration. The Master had shown him bliss and left him wanting more without any way to achieve it, like given a drug or a taste of something tempting and sinfully sweet. Logically, he knew it was a sin according to religions he did not adhere to. Sodomy got you stoned in most cities.

No one witnessed Altaïr rage out of control against a wall of an abandoned outpost building. Knuckles bleeding, chest heaving, he sank into the muddy hay. He did not know what was wrong or right in this. He had done things with Malik and they were right once. Weren't they? He just wanted to not feel so alone and empty inside.

The remainder of the journey was vacant inside and out for him. He tried to focus on the task before him and the relief he would feel to be in Jerusalem's Bureau where Malik could help answer the esoteric questions that sometimes rose in his mind these past few days. _What is the meaning behind nothing is true and everything is permitted? Am I right? Is it just a reminder that nothing is set in stone and anything is possible? If so, then laws are created by man and their logic, not by any god._ He recalled what Malik wrote in his journal as the city of Jerusalem came into view. _Some things are true, like my promises and how I feel about you._ Those were Malik's words. The promise to always be there for Altaïr. The feeling… Altaïr had no real idea. If Malik read his journal then he ought to know the crazy, insane, forbidden feelings Altaïr had. That he did not act on them only told Altaïr that Malik's feelings were just… different.

How could Altaïr really expect anything anyways. _It was because of me that things went so badly at Solomon's Temple. He hated me. He really really hated me. That feeling doesn't just go away._ Altaïr had made a firm decision as he crossed into the city over the entry support beams. _He deserves an apology. He deserves to hear me say… I have to tell him I am sorry, even if it will never bring back Kadar, even if it will never actually make us friends. He needs to know. I am sorry._

The darkening sky threatened him with the moonlight making his white robes almost glow. He hated the night for that reason. He would consider in these moments that black robes could be very handy for night excursions. He hunched on a roof waiting for a large contingent of guards to pass while he imagined what black robes might look like. In daytime, it would be pure hot hell to wear, but at night it would be ideal.

It was very late by the time he stretched over the lattice and looked through the gaps. Naheem sprawled over the carpets and cushions, practically drooling in his sleep. Altaïr rolled over the opening and hung for a long while before gracefully and silently dropping to the carpet. Squatting with one hand on the floor, he closed his eyes in inhaled deeply. Malik's incense mixed with the musky scent of men and the spice of the previous dinner. He stood and leaned over the fountain to drink. The cool water washed a soothing path down his throat, clearing it of the desert dust.

He knelt down beside Naheem considering letting him know he had arrived. He hesitated with his hand hovering over the teen's shoulder. He inched away quietly and looked in on Malik. He watched from the bedroom doorway, mostly hidden by the fake wall curtain. He felt like an intruder for some ridiculous unfounded reason. Altaïr abandoned his spying, returning to the open roofed room and the sleeping novice. He sat lounging beside the young man taking in the changes.

Naheem seemed taller, more filled out, looking more like the man he was going to be physically. He looked like he had his first experience shaving and smirked to himself knowing how excited he himself was at that age insisting Malik teach him. He licked his lips as he remembered their time in the ruined church and felt warmth build in his loins. He let out a deep breath and gently pressed his hand on the center of Naheem's back, much as he would if Malik were out here sleeping. He slowly lay down beside Naheem and rubbed the young man's back taking the smallest comfort for himself by offering this comfort.

Altaïr paused long enough to get out of armour and weapons, but was too tired to get out of clothing or wash. As he curled on his side with his back to Naheem, he felt a hand touch shyly. Naheem then moved closer till Altaïr could feel the young hot breath on the back of his neck. His soft groan was choked by other emotions and buried any further noise in the pillows. Every muscle tensed and he internally battled with his desire to feel this and more, his inexplicable fear that merged with visions of the study in Masyaf, and the fight that he should have done against Al Mualim in those intimate moments. Desire won out in the end with a soft moan as his body declared its needs.

Naheem drew back and pushed himself up onto his elbow wondering what was wrong. He gnawed on his lower lip debating asking when he noticed the firm bulge now in Altaïr's pants. Naheem's mouth formed an o-shape. A flash of insight sparked in his mind and he reached back for his clean rag and little jar of salve. He put some salve on the rag as Altaïr had showed him and set it aside. Leaning in close, he whispered, "Master Altaïr? You helped me through these moments. Will you… will you let me help you?" Not that Naheem was homosexual in any way himself, but he understood need and he really wanted to just comfort his master. Something was going on, something had been for a very long time. Naheem remembered the moments Altaïr was off alone weeping against a wall.

The thoughts of being touched, aroused, comforted from behind like this felt reassuring... felt normal. Altaïr wanted it to be normal and Naheem seemed to be treating it as normal. Altaïr nodded to the teen. "Please," he whispered back. He wanted to beg for more as he loosened his pants.

Naheem spooned in close behind Altaïr. His movements were less graceful that Altaïr had been in the ruined church, but Naheem was trying. He felt Altaïr lean into him a little. "I'll take good care of you," Naheem whispered, hoping this was what he should be doing. The reassured sigh affirmed it was so he continued quietly so as not to wake Malik. He held Altaïr as he slid his hand with the slicked rag beneath the fabric of his pants. In this position, it was not unlike tending to himself. Altaïr was quiet, but responsive. Naheem figured out the ways to hold and stroke that pleased Altaïr based on the softest sounds. What surprised Naheem was that doing this to another and hearing these sounds elicited because of his own actions caused him to grow erect as well. He had to stop a few seconds to adjust his position as new understanding settled in. _This is what happened to Altaïr_ _in the church, no wonder he… should I?_ He swallowed and tried not to press into Altaïr from behind.

Altaïr was not lost in the experience; it met a carnally deep need. He felt Naheem hard behind him and pressed back into the teen. Part of him badly wanted that, wanted more, wanted that bliss. He didn't know if the novice would go that far for him. He would rather Naheem be blindfolded and not see this, even if he felt it. With Malik in the other room, Altaïr dared not ask Naheem for more than he was giving.

When it was over, Naheem backed away to finish himself off. Altaïr, exhausted, tried to sleep through it. Naheem however was less quiet when dealing with himself and Altaïr pulled a pillow over his head to muffle the sounds.

* * *

A/N #2 – Some background on Naheem as it was brought up and people may have forgotten. Naheem is a late bloomer. Some boys go through their changes between 10 and 13, some go through it between 14 and 16, and some go through them in 2 stages. Naheem has not had much girl experience as he had been caring for a sick mother by himself up until a year ago when his father took him for training when his mother died. He has been training as an assassin for less than a year. Hormones and major puberty changes are hitting him… now. Because of his habit of caring for his mother, he has it ingrained in him to be helpful and domestic, even though he really craves for something more exciting. He is open-minded, not very shy, curious… at least when it comes to men and his own body. Wait till he is face to face with Tibah!


	134. Chapter 134: Malik Plots with Tibah

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – This is the start of an early plot bunny's notes. I think the bunny's name was Malik, too!

* * *

When it was over, Naheem backed away to finish himself off. Altaïr, exhausted, tried to sleep through it. Naheem however was less quiet when dealing with himself and Altaïr pulled a pillow over his head to muffle the sounds.

Malik slept through everything except Naheem. That dragged him from slumber grumbling in pure annoyance. He tugged on his black robe as he stomped into the main room to yell at Naheem to take a cold bath. The teen was done before Malik made it through the curtain. He stopped when he saw Altaïr curled with pillows over his head. Shaking his head he pointed at Naheem then pointed angrily into the back. "Bathe Novice… and stop waking us with your torments."

Naheem sheepishly gathered his things and retreated into the back without even trying to make an excuse or give an explanation. Altaïr gave up sleep and got up to meet Malik.

"What brings you back so soon, Altaïr?" Malik did not intend to sound so accusatory. He was tired and had awakened to the sounds of a rutting teen… again!

"I have come for Robert de Sable," Altaïr stated flatly as he tugged his hood into place defensively.

Malik sighed, "Safety and peace, my friend. Safety and peace." He tried to sound reassuring. "Seeking Robert is folly. We know what comes of that hunt alrady."

Altaïr fisted his hands then let out a long slow breath. "It is not vengeance I seek, but information."

"Then truly," Malik stepped closer almost expecting Altaïr to retreat and relieved Altaïr stood his ground. "Truly you are not the same man I once knew." He retrieved a basin and fresh towels for Altaïr to bathe in his own way in this much too early morning. "Information, you say? On Robert? I will need to put the word out. Is he your next target then?"

Altaïr simply nodded. Then he added, "My last target."

Silence fell like a temple upon them both.

Malik was sure he was not really awake enough to have truly grasped that. Robert was Altaïr's last of nine targets? After that, Master Al Mualim would reinstate Altaïr as a full master assassin. Anything could happen. Seeing Altaïr stifle a yawn that in turn made Malik stifle a yawn, Malik advised Altaïr to get cleaned up and they would talk more after the sun rose.

In the actual morning after breakfast, Malik learned nothing more from Altaïr on the purpose of the target until he sent Naheem to start to clean the upstairs room. Then Altaïr discussed with Malik how Robert was the last person to know of the Piece of Eden. "I am executing them all. The fewer who know the safer. The Master wants to ensure no one but himself knows so that it can be protected, so mankind can be protected from its temptations and dangers. The Master said that the Templars want the same thing we do, peace, just through the control of people's minds."

The news was sobering and dangerous. Malik now understood the reasons for this hunt for the nine people who plotted for a New World Order. He vowed to help Altaïr as best he could. "Robert is not in the city, not yet anyways. My informants would surely have told me that if he was. I will get them onto searching for news today. I have to run some errands today." He saw Altaïr glower and chose to ignore it. Malik did not need a protector, he was fine. "You have a promise to keep to Naheem as his co-mentor. Teach him about the hidden blade."

Malik could still see Altaïr's lips pursed even if the rest of Altaïr's features were hidden by the hood. He watched as Altaïr seemed to open his mouth to say something. Malik refused to let him. He was not going to get a lecture on how to move about this city from Altaïr. A crash and a yell and some cursing from above saved him from anything further. He sent Altaïr to ensure Naheem was alright as he set out his flags for informants and left to run his errand.

Naheem, with Altaïr's help rights a pile of boxes and returned to the main room with his father's wrist blade to learn about the mechanisms and to wait for the informants to arrive. Altaïr assigned him to draw every part of it he could and it for when he returned. Naheem almost protested, but Altaïr was gone. He threw his hands in the air like Malik, seeing why Malik did that about Altaïr.

Altaïr trailed after Malik in secret.

Malik's errand took him directly to the apothecary booth. In private, Tibah's father had turned Naheem down as a suitor. He was sharp and saw Naheem's missing finger. The man did not want his daughter marrying someone training to be an assassin. Malik had told Naheem who was disappointed, but took everything in stride. Naheem seemed sorrier for Malik. Malik however, was not ready to give in to that decision.

He strode to the apothecary stand purposefully. "Miss Tibah?"

The girl smiled behind her veil at him. Her father had not yet discussed anything with her, so Malik felt he could take advantage of some stealth. "How may I help you, Rafiq?"

"You asked for my trust. So I am offering it." He leaned in a little and whispered to her. "I spy for information and am training others to do the same." It was a half-truth. Her eyes lit brightly with excitement and curiosity. "You know my nephew?" She nodded. She didn't really know his nephew having only seen him very briefly that one time. But she did know he had one who was healing or by now healed. "Well, I have a training exercise for him that I would like your help with." Malik slid a book secretly over to her.

A tiny glance down and she nearly squealed but kept herself in check at the knowledge of the medical book he had slipped her. She hid the smaller book immediately among her personal things. "Anything you ask, Rafiq."

Malik was already impressed with her candour. "He needs to learn to be invisible to the crowd. I will be sending him out this way to observe people, to listen and yet be unseen. If you see him, for I know you have an excellent eye, do feel free to approach him. It will be a lesson for him to learn to be invisible to even the keenest eye."

"Is he off his crutches then? Do you need anything for his leg?" She offered an oil to help with the healing and to give Malik more excuse to be talking to her at the stall. He was just about to ask when she offered.

Malik did not want to send Naheem out here with the obvious identifier of a cane. "He is with a cane, but mostly off it now."

"May I know your nephew's name?" she dared. Her brother in the background rolled his eyes and turned his back. He had given up and chastising her for her boldness.

"Naheem. Thank you for the oil, Miss Tibah." Malik departed with a slight smirk at what he was sure was the beginnings of success.

At the Bureau, he greeted Naheem at the counter and the two informants who awaited Malik. "Novice? Where is the eagle?"

Naheem colored and tried not to stammer, "He… uhhhh… is on the roof?" Naheem knew he failed in that moment of stealth as Malik shook his head at Naheem before addressing the informants. Malik figured Altaïr started the teen on the study of the hidden wrist blade, since he could see the resulting drawings and notes, and then fled to do some searching of his own. Altaïr was never very good at following orders, listening, or staying in one place.

* * *

A/N #2 – I had to go back into the game to find the conversation between Malik and Altaïr. My husband still thinks I am a nut for pairing these two. Enh… whatever… he plays girl characters whenever the option is available for videogames. So… pppffffttt!


	135. Chapter 135: Altair Trains Naheem

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Long wait… sorry. The next few chapters will take a few days each as I am working on a paper, preparing and exam, working extra hours at my job, planning a national academic conference… and … renovating and moving into a new home.

* * *

Naheem colored and tried not to stammer, "He… uhhhh… is on the roof?" Naheem knew he failed in that moment of stealth as Malik shook his head at Naheem before addressing the informants. Malik figured Altaïr started the teen on the study of the hidden wrist blade, since he could see the resulting drawings and notes, and then fled to do some searching of his own. Altaïr was never very good at following orders, listening, or staying in one place.

Altaïr earned a glare from Malik when he dropped in through the roof. It stopped Altaïr at the doorway. He shrank back under the lattice and waited on the carpets to be invited in. Naheem gathered his papers, sketches and his father's wrist blade to join Altaïr on the carpets and show him what he had discovered so far. Trying not to feel rejected by Malik who was now writing in the log book and checking a map, Altaïr sat with Naheem.

He listened to Naheem explain everything he could figure out. He reviewed the drawing Naheem made with wide eyes at the teen's skill. In a quiet deep voice he offered small corrections and answered questions. The rest of the afternoon, Altaïr showed Naheem how to put on the wrist blade and work it, as well as how to take it apart and clean it and put it back together.

Malik joined them with dinner. "The news I have for you Altaïr is very little at the moment, but my informants know to keep their eyes and ears open. Apparently, there is going to be some commemorative funeral service for Madj Addin. The new regent is trying to be very accommodating and encourage peace within the walls of Jerusalem. He has invited both Richard's men and Saladin's men to attend. I don't know when or where or any other details, it is too soon. Maybe you could take Naheem on a scouting mission with you?"

Naheem's face split into a wide hopeful grin.

Altaïr didn't feel he was very good as a mentor as he silently considered this. "No cane." He did not want to see the cane and if Naheem could not learn to manage without it, there would be no way to train him as an assassin.

Naheem whooped and cheered. He quieted when both Malik and Altaïr hushed him.

Later that night Naheem sat sadly with Altaïr after Malik finally told him he was turned down by Tibah's father and why. Even though Malik tried to reassure him that he was not a failure in any way, and that the rejection was honestly because of his professional training, and even though he hinted that there might still be a way around this, Naheem still felt the sting of rejection.

He sat on the carpets with his back against Altaïr's moping as he recited the parts of the hidden blade.

"Tibah is Malik's problem, not yours Naheem." Altaïr still disapproved of this softness that Malik was exhibiting. How dare Malik be compassionate and understanding to this arrogant girl and not with him. "We will take you training in the market tomorrow. You and I will listen to the goings on for anything about this funeral. You will learn to be invisible. If she spots you, you run and disappear. You will see that she is trouble, so be careful."

Naheem must have had selective hearing. He heard training… real training for a real mission. He heard Tibah's name. Naheem's spirits were well lifted. He contented himself with spying on her from a distance even if he would never have the opportunity to get any closer. Her father didn't want her marrying someone like Naheem. He let go of that desire soon after when he rejoiced at successfully making the hidden blade obey his wrist movements.

"And that is why we remove that finger." Altaïr turned and pointed to the blade jutting out the gap made by Naheem's missing finger.

That night Altaïr had great difficulty sleeping. Partly he was unsure about Malik's reactions, partly because of his memories of what he and Naheem had done, and partly because of what had not happened with his Master. He lay among the pillows, eyes closed, but mind buzzing and squawking like angry birds. He heard Malik walk carefully to he and Naheem. He cracked open an eye and watched Malik run his fingers through Naheem's hair and whisper how he wishes the best for him and quietly plead for a quiet night. He did not plead with any heart in the plea. He took the teen's random wet dream moments in good humour, except the very moment he was awakened by them.

Altaïr snapped his eye shut as Malik approached him. A hesitant hand ruffled through Altaïr's hair. Altaïr could not help tensing. His breath caught and choked. He craved the affection and felt ridiculous since he was a grown man and should not crave it like a child. Malik continued to stroke Altaïr's hair till the tension eased. Altaïr relaxed into the soothing touch till somehow sleep stole his wakeful mind.

He woke to a small boy staring at him fixedly. Junayd let out a small yelp when Altaïr snapped awake, grabbing the boy up in his hands and hoisting him above his head. Junayd wriggled and tried his best to kick and struggle and fight free.

Naheem woke to the noise, "Junayd, shut up!" Naheem had woken several times in the night from odd nervous dreams. His last real mission ended with his father and mentor dead and an arrow in his leg. So he was tired and foul tempered that morning.

Junayd laughed, "You sound just like Master Malik!"

Altaïr had to agree. He put Junayd down to let him and Naheem go through whatever their morning routine was. He watched silently by one of the fountains trying to be so invisible that Malik came in to train them as if Altaïr had already taken flight. A glance up and their eyes met. Altaïr held them a moment before dipping his chin down for his hood to hide his features in shadows.

After a quick breakfast, Malik took over training Junayd in using blades while Altaïr and Naheem climbed out the roof for their information gathering.

An overtired Naheem talk more than Altaïr could handle. "Less talk and more listening," snapped Altaïr more than a few times. Finally Altaïr lost his patience and cuffed Naheem hard while on the edge of a roof. He caught Naheem by the back of his waist armour. The teen leaned far off the ledge, arms flailing, eyes wide and heart racing. The crowd below remained oblivious to the terror-stricken youth above. Altaïr pulled him back to safety slowly. "At least you have learned not to yell out of surprise. Good. Now keep quiet. Use your eyes and your ears, not your mouth." Naheem merely nodded.

Altaïr instructed the teen again on how to blend into the crowd and merge with a group of monks or scholars or priests. They practiced that as Altaïr kept his own eyes and ears open for anything about the pending funeral or news of Templars or crusaders. Nothing as of yet.

When the sun grew too hot, they practiced climbing buildings in shadowed alleys. Naheem practiced balance by walking the ledge around a fountain. This he found hard with his limp that seemed so pronounced while he struggled. He teetered and fought for balance with outstretched arms. Altaïr showed him how to crouch and pace his steps and his breath. Just as Naheem managed and grinned cockily with his success, Altaïr nudged him and it ended with a huge splash into the fountain. Naheem sat in the fountain laughing. Altaïr leaned against a shady wall mouth quirked in an awkward smile that felt too strange on his face. He helped Naheem out of the fountain and they sat in the sun on a roof to dry off. Drying off in the sun worked far better in the more desert-like climate of Jerusalem than the coastal climate of Acre.

"Your balance and motor skills have improved. You still have a ways to go. But it is still good." Altaïr dished out his praise sparingly, and Naheem soaked it up like a thirsty sponge. "Let us practice eavesdropping in the market."

Altaïr modeled the technique for Naheem in a little busy area and taught him the basic technique. They practiced every suitable moment along the way to the market, picking people out to listen in on. It was almost a game and not. They did have a goal. They sought anything on the funeral of the old dead regent, the one Altaïr killed some time ago. Naheem would pick out someone for Altaïr who would model various ways to go about this. Naheem would watch carefully and try to emulate with the targets Altaïr picked for him.

The challenge came at the busy market in the rich district. Altaïr picked a talkative carpet merchant for Naheem as he blended invisibly into the crowd to seek information. They agreed to exchange their findings at sunset when they would make their way back to the Bureau.

* * *

A/N #2 – I love seeing Altaïr teach. Gruff, quiet, yet so good at it. When he forgets his insecurities, he can be a great teacher and father figure.


	136. Chapter 136: Malik Lies

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Sorry for how long this took to come out. I was moving. And I am freaking out, just lost one of my cats (the $2500 savanna cat) while moving. Dunno where he is. Praying he finds his way home soon.

* * *

The challenge came at the busy market in the rich district. Altaïr picked a talkative carpet merchant for Naheem as he blended invisibly into the crowd to seek information. They agreed to exchange their findings at sunset when they would make their way back to the Bureau.

Malik trained with Junayd, the eternal bundle of energy and questions. Academically, Junayd still had a long way to go to get caught up to Naheem, however they were getting close to par in their physical skills. Malik watched as Junayd moved through the basic sword forms with the measuring stick in his hand instead of a sword. Malik barked out corrections. Junayd strained the limits of his patience trying new things.

"Master Malik? What does God think about what we do?" The question came like a hidden blade in the gut.

Malik called a halt to the training and fetched some fruit and cheese and cups for water. He needed to think about this answer. He had been asked it a couple times before. He had asked it himself. When he was about Junayd's age, he asked his older brother Faruq this question. _All things hunt and kill. The strong survive. Some cull the herd for this very purpose, to maintain peace and strengthen the population._ That was Faruq's answer. But it didn't really have anything to do with God. When Kadar asked it, Malik found he was answering something very different to his little brother. _God needs help. He can't be everywhere, which is why he has people like us and has priests and other people._ It sufficed for Kadar who was barely eight when he asked. Often Malik wondered if the question was in Altaïr's mind, but Altaïr never asked it. Malik asked it of Altaïr once and received a short answer. _There is no god, so what does it matter?_ Malik was sure the question must be floating on Altaïr's mind again, especially now.

When he sat with Junayd, Malik finally answered. "There are two angels that work with God. Arch Angel Michael and the Angel of Death. We serve humanity like them. Like Michael, we are the fire of heaven delivering messages. We are the sword of justice where justice has been unable to previously reach. Like the Angel of Death, we bring peace to the tortured souls and send them on their way with the utmost respect."

The answer seemed to satisfy the ever inquisitive mind of the child novice. Malik watched Junayd scramble his way up the fountain and out. He wished again that Altaïr had been there for this. Having novices was like having children and Malik knew how much Altaïr wanted children. There were recent snippits in Altaïr's journal about that as if he were afraid something were about to happen and there would be no possibility after, like he was on a time limit and the world was going to end… soon.

Malik cleaned up after the training. Alone in the Bureau felt so odd after a few months with Naheem. He found himself at a loss for what to do. He ordered all his medical supplies. He re-alphabetized all his books. He added to his maps. The heat of the noon sun beat down on the Bureau, so he removed the black robe, draping it over the stool. He stepped into the main room and glared at the ledge that ran around the inside of the Bureau, vowing to have Naheem clean and inspect up there for him. There was nothing left to do but wait for Altaïr and Naheem to return. He hoped the training was going well. He wondered if Naheem was aching. He worried that they might have gotten into trouble with guards and might return injured. With Altaïr, that was a good possibility. He set out some medical supplies in his back room in anticipation.

Then he waited again. He leaned back against the counter dressed in the dark grey pants, simple waist armour, and sleeveless waist robe with the hood that he wore under his black robes all the time. The bandaging was coming loose over his stump. He didn't really need to bandage it. The bandage simply reminded him to be careful with it. He opened the front of the white robe to allow the faintest breeze to cool his chest. Then he waited some more. He watched the open-roofed room with the sunny dust motes as the cushions and carpets remained empty.

Malik's thoughts drifted to Naheem, the cute teen with the dimples that drove him crazy at night sometimes. He questioned himself over and over if he had done the right thing about trying to arrange a match between the two teens. Tibah could be such a handful. He wondered if he was trying to rule other people's lives the way he hated people trying to rule his and Altaïr's.

He sighed heavily as his thoughts sank into those of Altaïr. So much pain and hate and anger. So much anxiety and confusion. Those journals from the drugged trance blew away all things he had thought about Altaïr. The training and what had been happening to Altaïr... Altaïr was right. Anyone else who might read such things would swear Altaïr was crazy or possibly a traitor.

The private journal revealed other things to Malik that would not leave his mind. Altaïr had been an ass pushing him at a distance to protect him. Altaïr had been tearing himself apart because of a mistake, true that it was a costly mistake, but it was a mistake. Altaïr had thought he could take on Robert. Altaïr had thought he could rely on Malik and Kadar to get the treasure while he created a distraction. He never thought he would be trapped behind a wall of fallen stone unable to save the people he cared about. Malik never considered before that Altaïr had been upset or possibly scared in any way.

He tried to imagine being in those shoes a moment. Your best friend thinks you betrayed them and you have to keep up that appearance even though you want so very badly to be close to them. You take them onto a dangerous mission and do the most insane thing that would likely cost you your life but would have saved theirs only to be trapped behind fallen stone unable to do anything but listen to them be cut to pieces. Malik shivered. Such a thought could break a strong man. _Did that moment break Altaïr? _

Malik toed the floor staring at a small crack there. Altaïr had taken care of him in his delirious wounded state after doctors had cut his arm off. There were questions there. Altaïr had wondered if the surgery was necessary. Was it? Or was it a contrived act by some traitor high up to ensure that Malik hated Altaïr and to cut the two off from each other who could together surly discover the traitor. There was one traitor second to Al Mualim already. What if he was not alone after all?

Straightening his white robe, he tugged his black one over it again to be properly attired. The flags outside needed changing. Malik wanted to get information from a different district, so he was summoning an informant to direct him there. Outside, Malik set the new flag on the bench while he removed the current flag. He made a mental note to water the plants out there. Dying plants were not inviting when you had to uphold the pretense of being a scribe and map maker in business. The money was actually still good and gave him enough to do personal things like acquire medicines he could not justify to the brotherhood, or buy books of personal interest. He mounted the new flag.

Returning outside with a watering can for the plants, he felt eyes upon him. The hairs on his neck stood and the feeling intensified. Instinct still lingered. He stepped sideways to water another can and covertly glance in the direction from where he felt he was being watched. Nina stood there glowering, a child in her arms. Malik's heart almost stopped. He looked up and their eyes met. She stepped back in to a shadow and was gone. He cursed, eyes scanning now for that hunter. Malik wondered how Nina got so good and becoming invisible and blending into crowds. He wondered just how good this hunter was. Malik stepped over to another plant and watered it.

When he entered the Bureau, the hunter stood there. "I know she is still in Jerusalem. Have to gotten any news, have you seen her? I was sure she was close earlier today."

"No and no," Malik replied flatly. "Several days ago, I already told you the last bit of news I had of her in the market area of the Middle District. Unless she chose to actually stand in front of this Bureau and stare at me during the short time I took to water the plants, how the hell would I have seen her and do you honestly think she would come this close to the Bureau if she saw me?"

The Hunter cursed and spat on Malik's Bureau floor. Malik wanted to hit the man for the disgusting act. The hunter conceded that Malik was right and left to hunt more. The truth was rarely believable. If someone told Malik this take, he would have looked into the matter, but Malik already knew this hunter might be good at tracking, but he lacked something… and Malik preyed on that to bide him a little more time. Time with Nina, though, was running out. She knew where the Bureau was. It was compromised. He weighed the odds of her taking that information to the Templars. She had spotted him a few times and had not given him away, yet. He dared offer her the same, for now. Maybe she was seeking Altaïr? Maybe she wanted to offer a form of peace because of the child? Malik threw a book at his shadow. _Don't even bother thinking that. Malik! You are going all soft and optimistic! Get real! She is a traitor and a betrayer and a bitch in the worst of ways._

Malik picked up the book he had thrown and thudded it back onto the shelf, then slammed the log book onto the counter over his map. Banging it open, he flung the pages to a blank one and added the date and the Hunter's encounter and continued inability to locating Nina. Malik hoped Altaïr didn't snoop through the log book. There was nothing more to do but go back to waiting. Waiting, and planning an emergency evacuation should Nina give him away to the Templars.

* * *

A/N #2 – This chapter was inspired by another one of shortiebat's art pieces from Deviant Art:

http:/ shortiebat .deviantart .com /art/Sometimes-I-Just-Wait-For-You-176272743


	137. Chapter 137: Altair Admits Tibah's OK

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Long chapter born out of a dream I had the very first day I introduced Tibah to this story so very long ago.

* * *

Malik hoped Altaïr didn't snoop through the log book. There was nothing more to do but go back to waiting. Waiting, and planning an emergency evacuation should Nina give him away to the Templars.

The challenge came at the busy market in the rich district. Altaïr picked a talkative carpet merchant for Naheem as he blended invisibly into the crowd to seek information. They agreed to exchange their findings at sunset when they would make their way back to the Bureau.

Naheem scanned the crowd as he had learned from his father. There were a great number of people, the cacophony almost deafening. Altaïr had vanished and he was thus on his own to implement what he had learned from his father and from his new mentors, Master Malik and Master Altaïr. He straightened his shoulders proudly to pretend like he completely belonged, pretend he was as much a master at this as Altaïr, even if he played at it. The information he sought, however, was not for play or practice. He needed to listen for news of the Templar, Robert de Sable.

Weaving through the crowd, he aimed for a bench to sit and listen from. It was close to the carpet merchant. Naheem wanted to stand on tip-toe to see over the crowd better and pick the right one of three benches there and to make sure he was not too close to Tibah's apothecary stall. Altaïr would be most upset with him if he failed this by being discovered by her. Invisible, Naheem needed to be invisible. He silently cursed the throbbing that had begun in his knee and tried not to limp.

The bench offered a cool breeze off the water fountain behind it. Such were the benefits of the Rick District's market square. He sat feeling swallowed by the milling afternoon shoppers. He immediately spotted the thugs, robbers and pick-pockets. He could pick-pocket decently himself and smirked that he had yet to be tested on that skill. He scrubbed a finger in his ear while trying to focus on the carpet stall. The sun baked the top of his head and he tugged up the light grey novice's cowl understanding why Altaïr always kept covered. Naheem already suspected they would both return home, to the Bureau, a little sun burnt.

The carpet stall overflowed with chatting people, exchanging news and bargaining for the best price. Altaïr had suggested to listen for keywords like funeral, Templar, crusader, and for any talk of the cultures of the crusaders like the English, French, German and other European peoples. Naheem groaned aloud at the hours of talk about threads and weaves and colors and costs. The news related only to weather, business, family affairs and other totally useless affairs.

Naheem almost dozed off in the mix of heat and boring conversation. A hand on his shoulder made him jump in his seat. An apology to Master Altaïr on the tip of his tongue which he instantly swallowed from the critical brown eyes of Tibah. "You will get heat stroke just sitting here in the sun like that. Naheem, aren't you? Rafiq Malik's nephew? I know we only just barely met but my name is…"

"I know who you are, Tibah." He didn't mean to sound so rude. She had startled him awake. He was tired, hot and caught dozing on duty by the one person he was supposed to be avoiding. He stood trying to remember what Altaïr had said if she were to spot him. Run, hide, vanish… hard to do when she opened conversation with you. _Dammit!_

She raised a brow at his irritability. "You need not be so curt, I was…"

"You are not supposed to speak to me! You just ruined my… You are not supposed to be here!" His voice rose louder in his frustration. The crowd around began to quiet and turn to them.

Tibah snapped back, "How dare you! I was being concerned for you and you behave like a child caught with a cookie!" She grabbed his arm to direct him away from the crowd.

He tore his arm from her accidentally shoving her. Her hand caught his for a second and her eyes widened. He pulled away, fisting his hands. Tibah's brother Kadar approached from the apothecary stall to save his sister from the ill-mannered youth she was yelling with. Naheem had rarely been challenged like this by anyone, let alone a girl. Being tired already and too hot made him irritable, propriety and etiquette flung far from his mind as the two teens degenerated to calling each other names in their heated exchange.

A white clad arm reached through the crowd, grabbing Naheem and tearing him back through into a run. Kadar yelled and ran over as guards started to pursue. Tibah stepped up onto the bench to watch their route then down again to face her brother. "Kadar, go protect the stall."

"Tibah, you are not planning on going after that brute, are you?"

Tibah glared furiously at her brother, who thankfully knew better than to shrink from his little sister's anger. "Yes. I have to. Go protect the stall from thieves till Dad shows up."

"Then I am coming to get you. Stay out of trouble. Try … oh why do I bother…" He walked back to the stall praying his sister didn't do anything further to ruin their family. He dared not push her. He had his own secrets to hide, secrets she kept for him.

Naheem thought things could not get worse. The run through the crowd, then the yanking through an alley and around a corner out of sight of the guards, and finally Naheem was slammed hard against the wall. Golden eyes burned through him as a blade pressed against his throat. _Ok… things just got much much worse._ He wanted to explain, but what was there to say?

Altaïr said it for him and a low harsh whisper, "What did I tell you. She was dangerous, smart, DANGEROUS! I told you to run and hide if she saw you. Did you not hear her the first two times she called your name? You had better tell me that you were so engrossed in news you were listening to and not actually dozing." Naheem lowered his eyes, but was forced by the blade at his throat to meet Altaïr's again. "That could have gotten you killed. Sun stroke kills. But worse, the guards might have dragged you off if they recognized you. You were supposed to be alert. You were supposed to run, NOT have a chat with the girl. And especially NOT have a loud enough argument to gain the attention of not just her guard brother, but the entire crowd in the market AND the city guard!"

While Altaïr did not raise his voice, his words cut deep with his anger and disappointment. "The Creed Naheem. It is one thing to break the Creed to try to save lives… breaking it on purpose is one thing. Breaking it out of ignorance and boyish foolishness, rising to the challenge of a girl… Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent. Your actions… I should kill here for it, then you! You would have broken that part and I would have had to be the tool. Hide in plain sight… HIDE… IN PLAIN SIGHT! Be invisible. What happened to that? Never risk revealing the Brotherhood. The damned city guard were coming for you! If they caught you, the prison guard would know you for a novice. Have you learned to withstand torture?" Naheem barely shook his head. "They would have force out of you the location of the Bureau, they would have forced out of you everything about me and Malik." Altaïr shook with his anger at this debacle. Naheem swallowed. " They know your name and your face, all of them. Fix it. Don't come back till you are forgotten in their minds."

"Ehem," Tibah cleared her throat as she rounded the corner. "Naheem?"

Naheem barely blinked a couple times before the flutter of white robes indicated that his Master took flight up the building and vanished from sight. Naheem fingered his blade at his waist wondering if he would have to kill this girl now himself and found he had no stomach for the notion. He liquid brown eyes missed nothing as they looked him up and down and paused at his hand over the hilt.

She walked fearlessly up to him, placing a hand over his on the knife. She tugged down her veil to expose her face to Naheem then rested her other hand on his cheek. She leaned in to whisper in his ear as her fingers played over his missing finger, "I know what you are she said barely loud enough for him to hear. I am not afraid." Naheem could smell the soft jasmine perfume she wore or was it a jasmine soap she bathed with?

She backed away from his flushed face till she was just out of his reach. Naheem stood numb.

"The Eagle is right. You need to fix things if you are going to be what you are. I know how you can become invisible again." She already had a plot hatching in her mind. _If I save him, maybe my father will consider him as an option and I will get to apprentice under his uncle…_

Naheem found his voice finally, "How do you know him?"

Tibah crossed her arms, "Just because I am a woman does not mean I am simple-minded, ignorant, stupid or blind. And.. well… we've met. He's more dressed this time."

Altaïr who listened over the edge of the roof buried his face in his arm in humiliation.

Naheem blinked in surprise, many questions springing to mind. He never got to ask them though. Tibah stepped closer again. "Here is what you will do," she began, "You will find for me… hmmm… a white rose and come back to my family apothecary stall. There you will make a dramatic apology and beg that I reconsider you as a suitor." Naheem's mouth dropped open in shock at her boldness. She tapped it shut for him. "Everyone will then figure we were having lover's quarrel and forget you existed as lover's spats happen all the time in the market square."

Altaïr grudgingly admitted to himself her actual brilliance at the plan.

Naheem opened his mouth to say something then froze, tensing as the family guard that watched Tibah's stall stepped into view and called her name. "I have to go now, Naheem." She smiled playfully and pecked his cheek with a chaste kiss before pulling up her veil and returning to her brother's watchful and almost reproachful eye. "Remember, Naheem, a white rose," she called over her shoulder before being guided out of sight by Kadar.

Naheem felt totally ruined. Not only had he made a fool of himself before his mentor, but also before the girl he had hoped to impress. He sank to the ground. Altaïr dropped from the roof in front of him. "Get up. I told you to fix this. She gave you an opportunity to do so. I hate to admit it, but it was a good idea. Never tell Malik I said so."

Naheem stood and looked at Altaïr almost pleadingly. "I don't know what a rose is."

Altaïr groaned about ignorant novices but chose to do so internally so he did not sound like Malik externally. It is a flower that is usually red. You now have a mission. Get to it. I will meet you back at the Bureau." Altaïr climbed the wall and vanished again from sight. This was tough love. Altaïr reprimanded harshly and praised rarely, but vowed to never be truly cruel, manipulative or damaging. He also wasn't about to abandon this novice on his first simple solo mission to fix a potentially deadly mistake, though he would not help him, he would just ensure Naheem did not get himself killed.

* * *

A/N #2 – Finally done moving, not set up, still missing my beautiful kitty.


	138. Chapter 138: Naheem and the Rose

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – I am now moved. Now that I have internet, you should see my updates a little more frequently than once a week. My kitty is still missing.

* * *

Naheem stood and looked at Altaïr almost pleadingly. "I don't know what a rose is."

Altaïr groaned about ignorant novices but chose to do so internally so he did not sound like Malik externally. It is a flower that is usually red. You now have a mission. Get to it. I will meet you back at the Bureau." Altaïr climbed the wall and vanished again from sight. This was tough love. Altaïr reprimanded harshly and praised rarely, but vowed to never be truly cruel, manipulative or damaging. He also wasn't about to abandon this novice on his first simple solo mission to fix a potentially deadly mistake, though he would not help him, he would just ensure Naheem did not get himself killed.

Naheem's first mission, publicly apologize to Tibah and show that he is courting her in order to vanish from the minds of the people in the market as just another fool in love who made a mistake. If only life could be that simple. Naheem stood a long time in that quiet alley sorting out the mess he created.

He dared not return to the Bureau till he could come back free of shame. He stared down at his shaking hands. His mentor, the man he idolized, nearly killed him and Naheem thought it was right. Naheem had put the Brotherhood in danger because he acted like a child who was hot and tired and grumpy. A real assassin would know better. He touched where Tibah had kissed his cheek, confusion starting to mix with a warm pleasure. Maybe he had a chance? Then he remembered the criteria. Bring her a white rose. Naheem had never seen a rose. His mother liked these big yellow flowers, but he had no idea what they were called.

He reigned himself in and took stock of his state. Thirsty, he could easily remedy that with some swigs from the little canteens on the back of his belt. Hot, that he would have to just have to endure. Tired, he was too high on the adrenalin rush from what just transpired to be really tired now. It meant he would crash badly later. Master Malik had discussed the effects of adrenalin with him in a lesson. He had to keep riding that wave and then be somewhere safe when that wave ended. Naheem wondered if Master Altaïr perpetually lived in that state. He could hardly imagine what the crash might be like for Altaïr when such a crash came. Naheem's leg throbbed. He rubbed it before making his way through the streets. He had maps memorized in his head and was already calculating the shortest routes around places to his first destination.

He was on a mission, his very first mission, alone. He practiced blending into the crowds at every opportunity or sitting between people on a bench to rest and to survey his surroundings. He found the plant merchant Malik had sent him to a little while ago for a new green thing for the entry garden after one died from some bug infestation. He sat on a low wall watching the merchant hock his wares outside the front of the small building. Inside were many plants and flowers. He listened to the conversations and squinted, trying to spot white flowers. Maybe white ones among red ones. Master Altaïr did say that roses were usually red. Suddenly Naheem worried that maybe white roses did not actually exist. _What will I do then?_

A woman asked about a rose bush for her estate garden. Naheem leaned forward casually sipping his canteen of water as he listened. "Sorry, miss. We have no more roses at this time. Maybe next month. I do have a great many chrysanthemums for the coming honorarium of the former Regent. Would you like some of those instead? I have many colors." Naheem almost abandoned the conversation, till he heard the reason and stayed to eavesdrop on this bit of news. He thanked God for his luck in this at least. Unfortunately, there was little more than that tidbit.

Naheem finally abandoned the spot and climbed a ladder. He still could not manage to climb walls like Altaïr. His thigh burned with pain as it was. His mission seemed futile now. He had no idea what this rose flower looked like other than it was a flower that was usually red. He kicked a few wooden crated out of frustration when he knew no one was looking. After some pacing on that roof and screaming in his head about being a failure many times over for this, he sat and tossed gravel off the roof a pebble at a time.

Then the conversation he overheard popped back into his mind. Estates had gardens and some had roses and roses grew on bushes according to the woman's request for a rose bush. The map of Jerusalem's rich district flashed through his mind and Naheem was off to sneak around the estate gardens.

He passes a dead guard on a roof and stood stock still having forgotten that the roofs could have dangers and guards who would kill him. He wondered how this one died, must have been an assassin. There was the Hunter after all and maybe others on their way to the Bureau. It served as a good reminder to Naheem to be extra cautious.

Hours and hours later, Naheem wanted to scream again and just kick all the flowers in the estates. Nothing bushy was there that was red or white. Nothing seemed like what he might be seeking. He pressed his back against a wall behind some larger potted plants as a gardener passed watering them. Naheem wrinkled his nose at the feel of the water soaking his soft boots and seeping through his toes. He prayed hard that the gardener did see him.

As the man passes Naheem, the breeze in his wake carried the soft scent of jasmine. Naheem's mother had also liked jasmine along with the strange yellow flowers. He closed his eyes and inhaled the softy scent that reminded him also of Tibah who smelled of it. An idea wriggled through his brain shyly. Naheem wandered through this estate garden. He took out a throwing knife to make discreet cuts so no one would necessarily see his thievery. He did the same on the occasional roof on the way back to the market, selecting now on whim.

Naheem pondered what Tibah meant about a dramatic apology. How was a dramatic apology supposed to help him vanish from the minds of the crowd? Would that only make his face more known? Wouldn't the scene only stick further in their minds? These questions interfered with his planning of a suitably dramatic apology speech. Thinking so hard on both interfered with his awareness of his surroundings as he approached the apothecary stall seeing Tibah's father serving a client as Tibah mixed something in a bowl on her father's direction. Naheem grasped snippets of an apology speech; he opened his mouth to say them as Tibah looked up.

A city guard grabbed his arm roughly, "There you are! Thugs like you should not be harassing the good folk of this market. I think a few days in the prison should teach you well."

Naheem had dropped the flowers, his apology gone from his mind. Eyes wide he did not know what to say or do. If he moved for a throwing knife or another kind of weapon it would go badly and really reveal him.

"Oh leave him be," Tibah's annoyed tone invaded the guard's space. "He is harmless, a fool, rude, irresponsible, childish… but harmless. I don't need your help to protect me from a suitor." She shooed the guard off.

Naheem fumbled to pick up his flowers. Humiliation burned through him. Anything he might have wanted to say was long gone from his mind. "I…Miss Tibah…" He licked the dry nervousness from his lips. The sprigs of jasmine sagged with the wilting white honeysuckle and the now broken lily. _Saying sorry is easy. Just say it and it makes a difference._ "Miss Tibah… I… I'm sorry… for yelling at you earlier. I tried, I really tried. I search literally everywhere. I could not find a white rose." He shoved the fistful of foliage at her.

Her hands covered his fist a moment before he released the pathetic bouquet to her. He could see her father standing and watching impassively behind her. Naheem's cheeks burned again. He took a couple steps backwards into the crowd and emulated Altaïr. He pulled up his hood and bolted before anything else could go wrong before the sun was fully set.

He never heard Tibah whisper how Jasmine was her favourite flower. Her eyes twinkled as she turned to her father with the bouquet. He sighed and offered her a cup to try to save the thirty plants.

Naheem ducked through the crowd. He grabbed the corner of a building to help him swing around it faster and dashed through the darkening street. He rounded one more corner into a dark alley and ran right into a tall white-clad armoured man.

* * *

A/N #2 – And so the dream I had for Naheem and Tibah ends here and I have to come up with new additions and ideas.


	139. Chapter 139: Altair's Secret Mission

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Once my living room is set up and we can find the Xbox, I will be able to di the sections of journal that are going to be pertinent very soon.

* * *

Naheem ducked through the crowd. He grabbed the corner of a building to help him swing around it faster and dashed through the darkening street. He rounded one more corner into a dark alley and ran right into a tall white-clad armoured man.

Altaïr raised a brow as he looked down at Naheem. Naheem looked up, not that he had to look up very far for he was getting close to Altaïr's own height. "Master Altaïr, I… I'm sorry. I failed my mission." Relief that it was Altaïr and not a Templar dripped from each word followed by his compounded shame.

Altaïr's expression softened and he places a gentle hand on Naheem's shoulder. "You did fine. My words may have been harsh, but you made a dangerous mistake. I need them to sink in." Naheem mumbled something close to agreement that the words sunk in. Altaïr felt the urge to hug this teen to him, but did not. Naheem was no child. He was a man now and needed to be treated as one. Altaïr still wanted to offer some sort of comfort. "Good. Then those mistakes will never be repeated. Mind the roof guards when you are on roofs, though. I will not always be there to deal with them for you. As for the rose, I think you did better with what you did give her. The people have already forgotten you as another forlorn suitor, just stop behaving as one when we get back to the Bureau. Your apology… went over well." It still irked Altaïr how brilliant Tibah's idea was and how well it worked.

"Saying sorry was the easy part," Naheem spoke quietly into the darkening alley. "But why… why do I still feel so awful?" His hand fisted over his chest.

"Because words, especially words we are already thinking in our heads, hurt far more than any blade when we hear them and leave wounds that are sometimes slow to heal. Trust me. You are not a fool, sometimes foolish, but that is only because you are a novice. You will learn. You **are** learning. You are none of the things Tibah claimed of you." Altaïr paused to let his words be absorbed. He hated saying so much but felt that Naheem needed to hear it all. "Novice Naheem, I am proud that you handled the challenge of fixing your mistakes. You did well. Now, go listen from a roof at the market and see if anyone is talking about you. Return to the Bureau in a couple hours. I have an errand and will meet you there later."

"OH! Master Altaïr! I overheard something about the funeral. It is not much, but they have some Christ's mum's flowers at it. Seems a bit odd." Naheem did not understand the small chuckle.

Altaïr nodded to Naheem, the chuckle still lingering. He then vanished into the dark using the play of light and shadow to help him. He found a high ledge to watch Naheem from. The teen sat on a box for a little bit to calm himself and sort his feelings. Altaïr understood too well how he must be feeling. Tibah's words may not have been meant, but Naheem felt their sting just the same. Altaïr promised to reassure Naheem later.

As he had also promised not to coddle the teen as he felt Malik did, he left the novice to his own devices for his errands.

Altaïr slipped back to the plant merchant's building to get a very good look at the chrysanthemums. He wanted to memorize the look of the flowers so he could recognize them later when searching for the funeral site. He traced some of Naheem's route though the estate gardens before he stood upon the roof of the Bureau watching the moonlight filter through the lattice roof.

He adjusted his stance trying to figure the best way to drop into the open-roofed room one-handed. He slowly and carefully hung by one hand before dropping softly onto the carpets. Crouched, he remained still. The smell of cooking food drifted to his nose. Malik was cooking in the back. Sure he was not going to get yelled at for anything since Malik was not immediately present, Altaïr padded softly into the main room. He gritted his teeth when the gate creaked and wished he had hopped over it instead.

"Altaïr? Novice Naheem?" Malik called from the kitchen.

Altaïr dashed silently to the back bed and out again. He escaped out the roof to wait for Naheem's return. There he sat cross-legged and opened his journal. In front of him he set out three throwing knives and opened the ink bottle. He scratched away in the journal while he waited.

_I disagree with Naheem. Saying sorry is not easy. I also had not told him that some words stay with you forever and those wounds don't ever heal. Mine haven't. The words I have heard in the fog will stay with me too. There is nothing after we die said Sibrand. Nothing. This is the only life we have. Why then do other faiths speak of reincarnation? How could there be nothing after you die when the dead linger to speak with me? How can there be nothing when the dead wait to invade my dreams. Or am I truly crazy? Do I hallucinate these people as they die? Am I only dreaming and confusing dreams with reality? What is real? Why do I sense and see things that others do not? Why do I heal faster and endure longer? Why am I different? Who are Those Who Came Before? _

Altaïr heard the faint creak of the wood that spanned this building and the next. A soft curse from the other side told him Naheem was having trouble. He closed the journal and capped the bottle setting it all aside. He stood and scanned the area with that extra sight sense Adha had taught him. Red glows showed in the distance on a roof too far to be a danger. Naheem shone bright blue on the other building. A yellow guard patrolled below on the street. Feeling safe, Altaïr strode to Naheem.

"Having difficulty with the beam?" he asked the novice. Naheem winced and nodded. Altaïr noted the wince and understood. Naheem was aching and did not trust his balance. Altaïr held out a hand, "Take my hand, I'll help you. You may need to practice low beam walking till you have better balance with that leg." He held Naheem's hand in a sure grip and guided the novice across steadily. On the other side, he caught hold of Naheem when he stumbled and held him embraced a few moments till the nervous panting eased. "You made it. Malik should have food ready for us soon."

Even though he pretended stoicism, Altaïr felt anxiety and his own nervousness roil in his belly thinking about meeting Malik. He worried that his errand made him the fool he claimed Naheem not to be.

* * *

A/N #2 – So… what was Altaïr's errand? What did he do? Why is he so nervous about Malik's reaction?


	140. Chapter 140: Malik's ForgetMeNot

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Once my living room is set up and we can find the Xbox, I will be able to do the sections of journal that are going to be pertinent very soon.

* * *

Even though he pretended stoicism, Altaïr felt anxiety and his own nervousness roil in his belly thinking about meeting Malik. He worried that his errand made him the fool he claimed Naheem not to be.

Malik heard the gate creak and called out the names of those he expected to be there. When no one answered, he gripped a knife in his hand and pressed his back against the narrow wall with one foot on the fountain, ready for a fight. He leaned forward just enough to glimpse out of the corner of his eye at who might be in the private back room. A tall figure darted in with a flutter of white robes, moved a few things on Malik's bed and dashed back out.

Malik sighed with relief as he recognized Altaïr. The journal was gone from the side of the bed. Malik was pleased that Altaïr would write more in it. Altaïr's writing had indeed improved with the practice. He now wrote as he thought with sometimes poor grammar, still moving through languages randomly. The spelling still pained Malik, but it too improved. Altaïr must be thinking an awful lot. He was not uneducated, just severely out of practice. Malik concluded that Altaïr needed to do more reading and that would help him see proper writing and thus emulate proper writing.

Setting the knife down, Malik returned to cooking the meal for the three of them with some extra in case informants dropped in. He expected Altaïr and especially Naheem to arrive starving. Naheem was growing and eating Malik out of the store faster than he could keep up with. After missions, assassins and growing novices needed more meat, like any other hunters. He lidded the stew to simmer for a while more and stepped into the bedroom to stretch from the cramped space of the little kitchen.

An oddity made him frown in confusion. There was something of color on his bed. There lay a sprig of blue forget-me-nots and the missing bishop chess piece. Malik shivered. This was a bizarre message. He had understood so many of Altaïr's little messages. This one could mean anything.

_Why had he been hanging onto the chess piece? And if he had it all this time, why give it back now and with these flowers? Why give me flowers? Why forget-me-nots? Is he going to leave? Is he planning on this Robert mission being his last? Does he want me to try to remember something? _

He pocketed the chess piece to place on the game table later and picked up the sprig as he puzzled this message. He simply gazed upon it for a long while debating asking Altaïr about this. He heard Naheem and Altaïr's voices as the two dropped into the Bureau. Malik set the flower in his cup of water beside the bed. Then he ran for the bubbling over stew with a few mild curses at how Altaïr was such a distraction sometimes. Not wanting to distress Naheem with this off message, Malik chose to keep it to himself and speak to Altaïr on it later. In the back of his mind, he wished there were many more sprigs for these were Malik's favourite flowers.

_Is that why he gave it to me? Does he know I like them? I don't think I ever told anyone. It is womanly and foolish and… men don't ask for flowers. I would never ask for them. So… why did he give one to me?_

Malik already knew this would gnaw at him all night. He ladled stew into three bowls and brought out the bowls one at a time. Naheem and Altaïr were using the basins to wash up. His critical eye already started analyzing each naked man for signs of new wounds or signs of old wounds acting up. The contrast between novice and master assassin was drastic. Altaïr bore marks and gashes and lines from the many wounds he incurred in his profession. Naheem looked like a nobles son with hardly any marks save for the young scar on his leg that was an angry red.

In this late hour, Malik ate in silence alone between trips to the back for salve for sore muscles and bruises. He had expected Naheem to be more vocal about his first training day outside with Altaïr. The quiet was… disquieting. Although, Malik did enjoy the watchfulness of Altaïr; noting how the master assassin attended to and bonded with his apprentice. It was almost adorable.

Malik recalled sadly how this behaviour of Altaïr's had started to manifest when Kadar started as a novice and Altaïr began talking about wanting a child of his own. Yet when transpired between Naheem and Altaïr was not quite like a father and son. It was more like brothers or budding friends. Malik turned away at the little pang of jealousy he smothered for its ridiculousness. The rapport between Naheem and Altaïr was not unlike Malik and Altaïr many years ago.

Malik pushed bowls of stew into the hands of his charges before retreating to his back room not wanting his unreasonable thoughts to show outwardly.

"_You stretch the tension out like this, Altaïr," instructed a younger Malik._

_Golden eyes followed Malik everywhere. "How come you know so much?"_

"_Dumb novice, if you actually READ stuff, then you would know too." Malik poked Altaïr teasingly in the side till Altaïr wriggled away laughing and giggling. "I can't believe how ticklish you are!" That tussle degenerated into a tickling match that Altaïr_ _lost._

Malik shook his head and drew himself a cool bath to banish the remainder of that reverie or memory that begged him to feel more than he wanted to. Malik soaked in the cool bath wondering if Altaïr was still ticklish and promising to find out one day. He gazed at the little flower in the cup with the chess piece now beside it. _I forget nothing. I ignore perhaps too much though. I should have paid more attention to you and not let my inner jealously blind me so to the truth of your actions. You asked me to trust you and I didn't._ He sighed and dozed a while in that bath.

* * *

A/N #2 – ART! This one inspired this chapter:

http:/ ameij .deviantart .com /art/Malik-Forget-Me-Not-177625179


	141. Chapter 141: Black Bishop White Knight

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – I thought you all might like last chapter's Malik memory. Usually I do the memory sequences from Altaïr in the Altaïr chapters. I thought I should do one from Malik for a change.

* * *

Malik shook his head and drew himself a cool bath to banish the remainder of that reverie or memory that begged him to feel more than he wanted to. Malik soaked in the cool bath wondering if Altaïr was still ticklish and promising to find out one day. He gazed at the little flower in the cup with the chess piece now beside it. _I forget nothing. I ignore perhaps too much though. I should have paid more attention to you and not let my inner jealously blind me so to the truth of your actions. You asked me to trust you and I didn't._ He sighed and dozed a while in that bath.

Altaïr remained as silent as ever under Malik's watchful eye and even after Malik retired for a bath. He washed himself from a basin. Naheem did the same, too sore and tired to really do much else. Altaïr showed Naheem how to stretch the soreness out and rubbed the salve into the teen's thigh. He side-glanced Malik a few times to see an approving nod. Even as he heard the bath and Malik sinking into it, Altaïr. He kept looking in that direction.

Naheem had finally relaxed from the aching and stress of his encounter with Tibah. His stint of listening in really did prove to him that he had vanished from people's minds. He thought he saw something, maybe assumed. "I know you and he were… once… before things fell apart," he whispered to Altaïr. "I know you get urges, tough ones. I… What is it like to… with a guy…"

Altaïr moved so fast that Naheem's breath was lost. The wall near the non-functional fountain was cool in the evening as Naheem found himself pressed firmly face first into it. Altaïr leaned into Naheem from behind. They were both hyper aware their nudity. Altaïr feeling the tension in Naheem's body, the scent of anxious sweat, the speed of each intake of breath. Naheem felt the heat and pressure of Altaïr behind him, including the bulge that throbbed against what he always figured a forbidden place. Sodomy got you stoned to death.

Altaïr placed a hand on the wall beside Naheem. Naheem knew not where Altaïr's other hand went. He wasn't sure he was ready to learn this, not at this very second. A cool breeze skipped across his back as Altaïr made an inch of space between them. Naheem turned carefully in the small space knowing he could have been raped in that second and be able to do a thing about it.

"I don't like it this way," Altaïr roughly whispered with his other hand over his eyes. He stammered and swallowed but could not speak further.

Naheem frowned as he watched Altaïr sink down to the floor. He inched a little over and sat on the edge of the dry fountain. He knew Altaïr had intense urges and sometimes there was no stopping something that was started. Altaïr had never crossed a line with him before, and still hadn't. Usually, Altaïr would then retreat far off where supposedly Naheem could not see and weep hard though quietly. Naheem had always wondered why. There was nowhere here to hide and weep though. So he witnessed this naked moment of Altaïr weeping on the floor. Hesitantly Naheem touched Altaïr's head then his shoulder offering confused comfort.

Altaïr gave in to the offer burying his face in his arms on Naheem bare knees. He wished he could hide this. He wished he could stop it. He thought his chest would burst. He wished this were Malik, wished so many things that would never be.

"I am not Master Malik… but… I am here for you, Master Altaïr. When you need me, I'll be here… for whatever." It was honest and simple, as Naheem naturally was. "I'm not much of a lover… and don't want to be, but I can offer some comfort… till we both have the people right for us. Maybe if you just tell Master Malik you are sorry…"

"No," Altaïr choked out. "Those words… are not enough. Not enough for what I did. I… I tried… I can't…"

"I think you can. And I think it would help. It won't bring back the dead, or regrow and arm, but I know you mean it and he will too. He is not always angry, you know." Naheem wanted to bridge something to bring these two men together again at least in friendship. It tore his heart apart seeing Malik moody and lonely and friendless when Malik thought no one noticed. And seeing Altaïr like this, so heartbroken, Naheem wanted to cry with him. "He cares, Master Altaïr, in his way, he still cares." Part of him wanted to be mad at Altaïr for not doing the simple thing of apologizing, but he understood why. The wrongs were deeper than just yelling at a girl, and far more complicated. Part of him wanted to be angry at Malik for not seeing all the things Altaïr tries to do, all the small ways Altaïr apologizes, for not seeing Altaïr like this and knowing why. _Maybe I should tell him._ Naheem decided that was exactly what he would do, tomorrow.

There was no room for humiliation. Altaïr felt exposed and more naked now before Naheem than simply being without clothing. The novice, however, became the teacher. Altaïr absorbed the comfort with desperation, grateful their quiet interchange did not draw Malik out to witness it. He backed off Naheem's lap and stood, clearing his throat and regaining his composure. His golden eyes flicked over the youth's body before nodding his thanks. He backed away further and dressed to sleep.

Naheem was likewise dressed when an informant dropped in surprised to see Altaïr there. "Master Malik is unavailable at the moment, do you wish to leave your news with me to be logged?" Naheem asked professionally as Malik's apprentice.

The informant declined stating that his news could wait till noon, then hesitated, "On second thought, tell the rafiq that you should both come for lunch. My wife," he grinned broadly, "you can feel the baby move now in her."

Naheem laughed, "You came over at this hour to tell us that? I'll pass the word along. I am sure we can try to squeeze in some time to visit."

Malik hurried out with damp pants and pulling on his black robe, "Really? Moving? Of course we will come tomorrow."

The talk of babies only darkened Altaïr's mood, made him feel more left out as he backed into a shadow watching the joy bubble around the room. He backed from shadow to shadow into the main room, slunk over the counter into the back room out of sight and hopefully out of mind. Though, he seemed to already have been both. He turned when color caught his eye. On the shelf lay the little forget-ne-not drying on its side. With it lay a dried red rose bud and a dried red carnation. The black bishop piece stood behind them with a much older white knight chess piece that Altaïr recognized as having gone missing from his own set long ago. He touched each lost in the moment till Malik said his name. His hand snapped back away from the items and tugged his hood up as he backed away from even this.

* * *

A/N #2 – Art art art...

http:/ summerseason .deviantart .com /art/Black-Bishop-and-White-Knight-178277674


	142. Chapter 142: Malik's Quiet Moments

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – The calm before the storm…

* * *

On the shelf lay the little forget-me-not drying on its side. With it lay a dried red rose bud and a dried red carnation. The black bishop piece stood behind them with a much older white knight chess piece that Altaïr recognized as having gone missing from his own set long ago. He touched each lost in the moment till Malik said his name. His hand snapped back away from the items and tugged his hood up as he backed away from even this.

Malik had wondered where the assassin had managed to slip off to. Here he was looking at the little arrangement on the shelf. Malik had stood silently behind Altaïr for a full minute just observing the man touch each object as if remembering or trying to. Malik found himself feeling embarrassed by what Altaïr discovered, as if v had read a forbidden entry in a private journal. "Altaïr?" Malik did not expect the great eagle to retreat from the objects as if burned by the calling of his name.

Altaïr hid in the shadows of his hood, defensively. Malik wondered what he was hiding. Looking over at the flowers on the shelf, Malik began to explain hoping that Altaïr would finish the explanation. "I found the knight piece under my bed before I left Masyaf to come to Jerusalem. The rose and the carnation I had kept dried in a box I took with me. You were fond of them and I thought the two red flowers suited you. The rose in its beauty hid a secret of softness I sometimes see in you and hope will grow, yet like you the rose has deadly thorns. The carnation, well you were so silly smelling them all the time."

Altaïr stared at the floor trapped in this back room with Malik. Malik touched the black bishop piece and the forget-me-not seeing how Altaïr's golden eyes flicked at the movement. In a deep hoarser than expected voice Altaïr filled in the gap. "You are always beating me with your black bishop. It is the educated piece that sees what most don't and can traverse the whole board." He hesitated before explaining the flower. "You like forget-me-nots."

It didn't explain why Altaïr had given them to him but it did answer some of the questions. "How did you know? I never told anyone."

"You draw them in your books when you draw pictures of … of your family."

Malik licked his lips at the pain of the memories. "My family used to grow them around the house. They are not common here, how did you find them?" Memories of his family pained him still. The loss of Kadar stung, though not as badly as the loss of Faruq who was as much father as he was brother. Malik's jaw clenched and unclenched unconsciously.

"An estate, north and east in the Rich District. A man is cultivating them there."

Malik chewed on his request in the lengthening silence before voicing it. "Why Altaïr? Why give these to me?"

The assassin opened and closed his mouth several times before just shrugging. "The chess piece is yours… I'm not sure why I hung onto it." Malik suspected that was a lie. Altaïr likely had been hanging onto it for many of the same reasons Malik had hung onto the old knight piece. "I… The flower…" he stammered a few more moments, "Forget it." Altaïr pushed past Malik back to the main room to sleep on the carpets with Naheem.

Malik sighed wondering what he said or did this time to scare Altaïr off. _He needs to talk to me. He needs to get out the things he has bottled up inside before they destroy him. Sometimes I think he trusts me and then there are times like this._

Malik had the urge to grab the flowers and chess pieces and throw them in his frustration. He didn't though. He beat his towels instead as he packed away the bathing supplies and dumped the bath water.

Sleep came slow for everyone but Naheem who was asleep long before Altaïr escaped Malik. Although, Naheem woke first to the sounds of Altaïr's nightmares. He sat up in a rush at the yell and the tossing. His heart pounding, he shook his mind clear reaching for a dagger before he realized it was just Altaïr. He pushed the dagger away again and blinked in surprise at the man in the throws of a night terror like Naheem had never before seen. He wondered what horrors caused the bravest man he knew to suffer one. Naheem crawled closer to Altaïr to shake him awake.

Malik woke to the yell too and lurched from his bed and staggered into the main room. Seeing Naheem reach over to Altaïr he yelled, "No Naheem! Don't!"

Naheem's hand landed on Altaïr and in the next breath he was pinned to the floor struggling to breathe in the death-grip around his throat.

Malik yelled at Altaïr in the background. Air rushed into the teens lungs as Malik tackled Altaïr off of Naheem and with great practice had Altaïr pinned face down into the carpets. "Don't EVER touch a sleeping assassin. NEVER! Wake them from a distance. They could kill harm you before they know it is you. In a dream like this, he would kill you before he was fully awake."

Naheem backed off to a safe distance, the lesson learned.

Malik released Altaïr when he was sure the man was awake and no longer struggling between dreams and reality. Malik's hand then traced gently over the red marks that would surely bruise by morning on Naheem's throat. "You'll be ok," Malik said more to reassure Altaïr than Naheem who knew he would be fine.

"Is that rule for all assassin?" Naheem asked wide-eyed.

"For all… all assassins and all warriors and guards and soldiers," Altaïr muttered with an almost apologetic tone.

"Especially for experienced ones like Altaïr," finished Malik. He wondered what caused this nightmare. He watched as Altaïr took up the journal. "Why don't you write in the back with me? That way Naheem can get some undisturbed sleep." The hood bobbed as Altaïr nodded.

Naheem opened his mouth to protest that he was ok again, but Malik shook his head. He laid back down and watched his mentors leave.

Altaïr shied from any physical contact, flinched at every sound, and would not meet Malik's eyes, not that he really did that anyways. Malik could only imagine the many things that must have stewed in Altaïr's dream to put him on edge. "You can use my bed. I'm awake anyways." Altaïr hardly needed more coaxing to cautiously lie on Malik's bed and start writing the mess he had dreamed. Malik watched quietly as he set up some cushions and selected a few books to read.

"Do you mind if I read out loud?" Malik doubted Altaïr was in any head space to read, but likely was in the perfect head space to listen to something that was not the horror of his mind. At Altaïr silent nod, Malik read a poem dated 1120 by Omar Khayyam called _The Wisdom of the Supreme_.

All we see-above, around-  
Is but built on fairy ground:  
All we trust is empty shade  
To deceive our reason made.  
Tell me not of Paradise,  
Or the beams of houris' eyes;  
Who the truth of tales can tell,  
Cunning priests invent so well?  
He who leaves this mortal shore  
Quits it to return no more.

In vast life's unbounded tide  
They alone content may gain,  
Who can good from ill divide,  
Or in ignorance abide-  
All between is restless pain.  
Before thy prescience, power divine,  
What is this idle sense of mine?  
What all the learning of the schools?  
What sages, priests, and pedants?-Fools!

The world is thine, from thee it rose,  
By thee it ebbs, by thee it flows.  
Hence, worldly lore! By whom is wisdom shown?  
The Eternal knows, knows all, and He alone!

Altaïr stopped scratching away in the journal and simply listened. When Malik finished reading, he looked over at Altaïr. "Do you want to talk about it?" He hoped Altaïr would open up, just a little.

"No," Altaïr declined the opportunity. "Malik? Read more?"

Malik set down his first book and took up a book of gnostic wisdom, one Altaïr had shown interest in before and started from the beginning. He often wondered if Altaïr was asleep when he and Kadar read texts to each other during training. Now he knew as Altaïr would quietly interject his opinions or ask a question for clarification. Malik supposed this was a step. In a way it was, in another way, it was more like Altaïr had hopped onto a precarious pillar without looking and stood there so close, yet just out of reach and ready to fall. No actual bridge spanned the gap.

* * *

A/N #2 – poem taken from this Islamic Medieval literature site:

http:/ www .fordham .edu / halsall / source / omarkhayyam-wisdom .html


	143. Chapter 143: Curiosity YAOI

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Curiosity killed the cat… YAOI WARNING! It is a long chapter and took a while to write since the public transit was too crowded to sit down in to write.

* * *

Malik supposed this was a step. In a way it was, in another way, it was more like Altaïr had hopped onto a precarious pillar without looking and stood there so close, yet just out of reach and ready to fall. No actual bridge spanned the gap.

Altaïr slept better in Malik's bed, he always did. He even found himself sleeping in. What woke him was the sound of steel hitting steel. The only reason he did not jump was that the sound was accompanied by voices. Malik instructed Junayd and Naheem as he beat them with a sword. Altaïr chuckled softly to himself thinking that the novice had likely considered it to their advantage to take on Malik together. Oh how wrong they were finding that!

Altaïr stepped out and evaded the swinging blades stealing one from Naheem who swung too wide. The novices jumped out of the way as Altaïr took on Malik more for show than with any real fight. He mimicked some of the novices moved and followed them by the correct moves. When golden eyes locked with charcoal ones in a long steady pause, the novices bolted for cover as a true sparring took over. Their favourite place was also the safest, up on the wooden running ledge above the scene rooting each for a different mentor.

As ever, Altaïr found himself on his back with a bleeding cheek and Malik looking down at him smugly. "I am still the King of Swords and you are still the novice, Altaïr. Now get your ass out of here and find information about your target."

Altaïr did just that, swiftly armed and armoured himself and flew from the opening in the roof scaring the bolder pigeons on his way out.

Altaïr wasn't sure where the morning fun came from. At least he thought it was fun. Likely it was because he slept so well. He wondered where Malik slept. His jaunt for news revealed little, but still useful information. He crouched on one of the higher towers of Jerusalem thinking about this mission, about Robert de Sable, about this was going to take a while. He usually never spent more than a few weeks here. This mission would take easily over a month maybe a few months. With the open invite to all sides of the war, it takes time for them to arrive.

Gathering news and information would have him all over Jerusalem. Already he spotted a couple informants that were not the usual in Jerusalem. He wondered if Malik knew of them. _Of course Malik knew. This is his city and he is head of the Bureau here. Informants check in like Assassins, I think. They must._ He dismissed the issue immediately after and spread his arms, eyes closed as he felt the wind whips at his robes.

Instinct always guided his leaps of faith. He never missed the hay. Altaïr turned around to face the inside of the tower. He imagined Malik standing there watching reproachfully. _Would he care if I died? I am always a stupid novice to him. Naheem says he cares, and sometimes I think he does. But is that just duty? Am I reading into it too much and hoping too much? I am a fool. I should remain stone cold. These fog dreams, these messages from the dead, these nightmares… The more I feel, the more I want to feel, the worse they are. I am just lying to myself. Nothing is true. But he said some things are true. Maybe we are wrong and Robert needs to live. What if my doubts are true? Then I have broken the Creed many times over with each kill. It means I am nothing and never will be._

He spread his arms again but could not banish the image of Malik watching him. _God knows our lonely souls, Malik. _Holding that image of Malik standing and watching him, he took a step back along the wooden post to the very edge. A leap of faith meant exactly that. If there was a God, one with some plan for Altaïr, then by miracle he would survive. Every leap of faith was like that. He never told Malik that though. It sounded suicidal and would only anger Malik. He closed his eyes and leaned back. He fell. The wind rushed past him as he gazed up at the cloudless sky. The wind stole his breath, stole his thoughts, he accepted the pending death.

And then instinct took over. By some miracle, Altaïr walked away from the hay… again.

When he returned to the Bureau, only Naheem was there with some snacks. He used his cane to ease the strain on his leg as he moved about like he owned the Bureau. He smiled, dimpling, at Altaïr's arrival. "Good news? Find anything? Or do we get to take advantage of Malik out visiting that informant's unborn and do some training?"

Altaïr pushed back his hood and raised a brow at Naheem. "First my news. Are you going to log it?" Naheem opened up the log book with a professional air and noted down the bits of information from Altaïr. "I thought you were going to go with him?"

"He wanted someone here for you."

_Because I cannot be trusted?_ Altaïr's skepticism invaded every time, his doubts clouded some of his judgments, especially when it came to Malik. However, he was glad to see Naheem. There was no tension between them.

"Master Malik was telling us how training had changed from the founding of the assassins. That it went through major shifts with each new leader." Naheem came around the counter and lean his cane against the wall. "Do you know what those changes were? We ran out of time and I am curious."

"You are always curious," commented Altaïr. "These kinds of questions meant he would have to talk a great deal. That should be more Malik's role than his. Naheem's sweet face and slight innocent dimples and mischievous eyes could not be denied. "Oh fine. Get me some food first, rafiq novice."

Naheem chuckled and brought out some sandwiches. He eagerly waited on the carpets for Altaïr to join him. His curious expression faded at Altaïr's serious look.

"Training to be assassin is not easy, nor meant to be fun. The job is dangerous." He removed his armour and weapons then exposed one arm for Naheem to get a good look at the scars. "Half of the wounds we incur come from training alone. You are so behind in your training that you missed much of the physical push. It will come. You train in endurance, flexibility, acrobatics, unarmed and armed combat. You are trained in languages and tactics, mathematics and architecture, literature and cultural activities, religion. You are beaten for your faults and mistakes to toughen you. In the past, this started when you were four years old. Those that survived to the age of ten would then be grouped under Masyaf mentors and weapons specialists. Those who lived to fifteen trained under a private mentor and went solo at the age of eighteen if he reached that age. Among that training was the subtler techniques you know as those of the assassin. Also, the other training involved enduring the worst of tortures so you could survive capture should it happen."

Altaïr sipped water and ate a sandwich watching Naheem process this information. "The first major shift came when training was changed to start at the age of ten and indoctrination was abolished in favour of education and teamwork. Novices were teamed up with a partner they would likely remain partnered to for the time of their work as an assassin. Testing ensured to find the best position and tasks for novices. By fifteen they were mentored as a team and started smaller missions. They never soloed. They worked as a team, watched each other back, were completely responsible for each other's actions good and bad." Altaïr paused and quieted to finish his food. "It was still hard training, but the partnership eased the strain, and increased support and brotherhood and loyalty. Some training techniques were abandoned entirely, some were not, depending on the mentor. In the last ten years, some of these changes were being reversed as assassins were less and less successful, less able to endure as they used to. Soft assassins are dead assassins. So partners were split up and a mentor took over training. Partnering became a rare thing only if the mission was complicated and would need more than one person to pull it off."

Naheem thought about all this as he silently realized he was a very soft assassin. He wanted his mentors to be proud of him. He was old enough to know he was severely behind in the training, at least the physical training. He was mostly up to date with the academic training. "Are you still tortured to train you to endure?" He shuddered at the cold look he got from Altaïr's golden eyes. "Right, depends on the mentor." It made him wonder what his mentors had in mind for him and if he would have any say in anything. Malik afforded him so much freedom to choose, as did Altaïr. They pushed him very hard in each task he set himself to, but never more than that.

The two lounged in the sun for a while. Altaïr sensed that Naheem had many deep thoughts he wanted to ask about, perhaps forbidden ones that he was mulling over asking. Naheem already knew he could ask anything, of either mentor. The trick was asking the right mentor in order to get the fuller answer. Malik gave you a very complete answer, but tended to be academic and clinical and dry. He backed everything up with references and tied it into literature to make you think. Altaïr rarely gave verbose answers. When he did you really had to listen. Altaïr preferred to answer through action, showing you so you learned through experience. Naheem had concluded that sometimes you had to ask the same question of each mentor to get the best answer. Each had one side of the answer and you needed both for a complete answer. And then there were more sensitive questions that Naheem knew Malik would answer with coolness and distance but Altaïr would describe with feeling or show through actions.

Questions about sex fell into that latter category. Naheem though through the experience the other night from being pinned against the wall with the chance of being penetrated there and then, to Altaïr's heart wrenching breakdown, to the night terror, to the gentleness he overheard in the back room. Oh yes, he learned eavesdropping like a pro. He mulled over how he felt about things and what he was willing to be curious about. Assassins supposedly lived short lives. And Naheem had made some promises to Altaïr that most religions condemned. He sat up shrugging, _ENH! You only live once, right? So try everything at least once so you know._

"Master Altaïr? You told me never to ask unless I was willing to follow through." Naheem licked his lips at the sharp predatory look in those eagle eyes. He found himself whispering his next words, "I'm willing to follow through, at least this once."

"You pick strange times to ask, Novice Naheem." Altaïr looked up at the open lattice above them. "Anyone could drop in."

Naheem smirked and struggled not to laugh. Malik had warned him of this and he really didn't believe it. "Don't you ever check the flags outside?" Altaïr frowned like he just missed something important and thus made himself look stupid. "It is the one that says no one is here and to come back later."

Altaïr felt like a fool.

"Master Malik says you ignore them anyways and magically find your way in despite locks and such. So better someone be here for you in case you did that while hurt." Naheem got up and closed the lattice. "Master Malik will be back around dinner time." He turned to face Altaïr feeling a bit nervous under the scrutinizing gaze. "I want to do this, Master Altaïr, if…if…" Now his nerve started to fail him.

Altaïr was unsure if he wanted to teach this to Naheem and yet the idea of doing so stirred him inside. To be wanted, actually wanted, twisted all kinds of things inside him. He stood slowly and helped Naheem lock the roof shut. He studied the teen before him, eager, too curious for his own good, too sweet to be an assassin really, but that could work to his advantage. No one would expect the adorable ones to be deadly. He thought about Naheem's promise last night and nodded silently as he already felt heat swell in his loins in anticipation. For Altaïr this would only be the second time he had ever done this. There was an excitement to that, even though Altaïr was more use to and really wanted it the other way.

Altaïr's study of Naheem revealed surprising discoveries. The teen really was hardly that. He matched Malik's height and needed new pants as proof. He may yet sprout higher to meet Altaïr's height. He was filling out muscularly with the training of the last few months and stood fairly straight despite the leg injury. Altaïr concluded that Naheem would probably keep the round cheeks and dimples forever, kind of hoped he would. Naheem was a man who made a decision he was willing to accept the consequences of. Naheem's eyes held only trust and Altaïr swore not to ever break that or lose that. "Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes," murmured Naheem.

Altaïr guided Naheem to the carpets and cushions then sought the salve from the belt pouches he had removed. The sun warmed everything or was it the rising rush of blood for the experience? When Naheem started to undress, Altaïr stopped him. "Let me." He turned Naheem and gave him a gentle shove to be on all fours.

Naheem swallowed but obeyed. He could hear the slight rustle of fabric behind him imagining that Altaïr was likely dropping his pants and readying. Naheem did not feel ready and worried about this, suddenly doubting his decision. His muscles jumped when Altaïr knelt behind him and rested a hand on his lower back. Altaïr said nothing as he pushed a pillow under Naheem and laid a cloth over it. Naheem at least was used to Altaïr's silence, and only looked over curiously trying not to let his nervousness show.

Altaïr debated much in his head about this lesson. He would never have done it if he were not asked. He reached around and undid the ties to Naheem's pants. Pulling them back and down he noted how fair and unscarred the young man was. He was nervous too. Naheem thought he had so much experience. Altaïr only had receptive experience. He closed his eyes and tried to remember things Malik taught him and things his own Master taught him. "It will hurt. It would be better if we worked you up to it, but that takes time and repetition. I'll use a lot of salve and I'll go slow."

Naheem felt Altaïr's firmness press slickly against him. It felt bizarre being rubbed back there with no fabric between them. His only last experience of that with clothes on was in that ruined church a while back. Altaïr's hand slid over Naheem's manhood till his stiffened. It helped ease his anxiety; well it turned this more into a thrill than a worry.

"Remember how I showed you to breathe and relax certain muscles?" Altaïr asked leaning over Naheem's back to speak in his ear. Naheem's breath caught but he nodded. "Then relax you ass." It sounded crude, and yet not to Naheem's ears. When he felt poked, he knew instantly what Altaïr meant. Instinct made him clench instead of relax.

Altaïr Gently coaxed by arousing Naheem to distraction then pushing in far enough to be past the crown. He knew it hurt Naheem by the small outcry. "Shhhh… I warned you it would hurt. It won't hurt for long. Breathe with me and relax this. It will go easier." He breathed slow and long in Naheem's ear till he felt the novice matching him, "Good." He slightly rocked to test the tension and get Naheem a little used to the feel of being penetrated. Each rocking eased the way and Naheem began to relax and move with Altaïr. Only then did he deepen his rocking little by little.

Naheem thought Altaïr would be a rough fierce man, as he was that in all other things. This surprised him. Altaïr was slow, careful, and gentle. Naheem thought this would be invasive and uncomfortable. It was at first. It hurt like hell for a while, and then he started to lose sense of the world in the sensations front and back of him. He heard Altaïr struggle to maintain steadiness of breath and movement. There was an excitement at knowing he was pleasing his mentor in ways that were difficult to control. He felt pressure build and knew he was close to his own release. He could not help tightening and tensing his muscles. His fingers dug into the carpets.

Altaïr gripped Naheem's hip with one hand as he tried to pleasure him with the other. Virgins, they always had this knack of making it impossible to last long or stay focused. Altaïr had forgotten how good this felt. Men and women had their own unique feel and he liked them both. However, as he drew close to orgasm, speeding his gentle thrusts and deepening them till he was fully sheathed, he could not help but think of Malik, of that one time they had together. He tried to keep his eyes open to stay focused on the fact that this was Naheem, but that too became impossible soon. As much as Altaïr prided himself on being quiet, soft groans escaped him.

Naheem was sure he heard Malik's name in the soft groans emanating from Altaïr. It didn't bother him. What bothered him was the growing intensity that suddenly exploded behind his eyes and shot down his spine into his groin and out. Altaïr came soon after. The discomfort followed. The wrongness of having something inside him, made Naheem wanted to tell Altaïr to get off. He whimpered.

Altaïr heard the whimper and knew reality must be catching up now and likely regret. He eased back and spoke softly, "You will ache and it will be leaky and messy. Use a towel and go straight to the waste grill. I'll prepare wash basins for us." He removed himself carefully and covered himself with a cloth offering a spare towel to Naheem.

Naheem sat over the waste grill in the kitchen area for a long while deciding that he did indeed regret this experience. There were moments in it that were incredible, orgasmic, and ecstatic. But as a whole, he did not like the feel of the initial pain, the invasiveness, and now the disgusting after effects. He felt gross through and through and concluded he would never do this again. Each time he tried to get up off the grill he sat back down. This was decidedly not fun. He felt like he would leak crap forever. He buried his face in a hand worrying what to do now.

Altaïr showed up dressed and frowned to himself. "I told you not to ask for something you were not willing to follow through on."

"I was willing!" Naheem protested. "I just… I … Don't like this… here… now… I feel disgusting…" He felt embarrassed too which did not help his predicament.

"Basins for washing are ready for you." He offered another towel and collected the dirty ones for washing.

"I don't know how you could want this," Naheem took the proffered towel and apologized for his tone when he saw his mentor's withdrawal. Altaïr's expression darkened and he turned away from Naheem leaving the novice to make his own way out to wash and redress.

When Naheem made it out to the basins, Altaïr had opened the lattice roof and was gone. He cursed aloud. He cleaned everything and washed the towels and stretched them to dry. He opened the lattice more fully and fed the pigeons. Then he started dinner for everyone glancing at Malik's instructions for cooking. By the time he was done, and the majority of the experience had faded, he was satisfied as a whole with having gone through it. He now knew what it was like and that he would rather not do so again.

Altaïr did return for dinner. Naheem handed him a plate with a warm smile. He was rewarded with a softer look and a slight smile in return. Altaïr sat to eat while Naheem did his best to _run the Bureau _till Malik returned, and do so without sitting on the stool. The sun had not set yet and Naheem wondered where Malik was. "Master Altaïr? I think I want to check if Master Malik needs a hand carrying anything back. It is not like him to be late and…"

"Lock the lattice when I leave," Altaïr ordered. "I'll follow you." Altaïr did not expect the anxiety to hit him in the gut as hard as it did. Malik was probably fine. Malik would probably be in the foulest of moods to find that not just Altaïr but also the novice went out for him. Malik would blame Altaïr for Naheem coming along. They went anyways.

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A/N #2 – And satisfaction brought him back.


	144. Chapter 144: Malik Betrayed

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – _***start rant *** I hate hate hate fight scenes. I HATE fight scenes! HATE THEM… grrr… correction… I love fight scenes. I HATE WRITING FIGHT SCENES. Hate writing them! I suck at writing them! Apologies to all those who read this who can write them better than I can. After rewriting this chapter more than eight times… I give up and am posting it anyways. *** end rant ***_

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"Lock the lattice when I leave," Altaïr ordered. "I'll follow you." Altaïr did not expect the anxiety to hit him in the gut as hard as it did. Malik was probably fine. Malik would probably be in the foulest of moods to find that not just Altaïr but also the novice went out for him. Malik would blame Altaïr for Naheem coming along. They went anyways.

"He should be easy to follow," the blond woman handed over a small bag of coin to the eager guard.

He grinned ruthlessly at her, "A pleasure. I have been waiting to get to him. Thank you for the tip. Crips like him ought not have such plush and opulent jobs. I will be sure to put him out of service for you." He bounced the bag of coin in his hand before dropping it into his own belt pouch and striding off to the market square.

Malik enjoyed the brief break with his informant's family. It was a needed break without novices and annoyances and annoying novices. This would not have been possible without a novice assistant and he regretted denying having one this long. Then again, Naheem had turned out to be much more reliable and skilled in the position of rafiq than Malik had anticipated. He had to admit that Altaïr made the very best choice of apprentice for him. This exceptionally good day deserved a good reward for his good novices, providing Altaïr continued to be good. That was never a guarantee. Although, Altaïr should be out or even back with some news from his information hunting.

As reward, Malik detoured to the market. _Altaïr loves pears. Maybe I can get some more for him. Naheem likes those powdered jelly deserts that taste of rose, the ones I got last week that he ate all of._ Malik chuckled. He had gotten only a couple to try the imported dessert. Imports like that were pricey, but Malik thought Naheem was worth the price.

This morning's sparring with Altaïr did wonders for Malik's ego. He did sometimes wonder if Altaïr let him win, but after fighting off his own self-doubts and remembering he was always the better swordsman, he confidently accepted his win. Altaïr won when he was desperate or fighting for his life, a target, or teaching others a lesson. Whenever he fought with Malik he never focused quite enough. Even though Malik wanted to see Altaïr fight his very best with him, he valued the fact that Altaïr believed Malik the better and able to pin him. That thinking meant Malik could still pin Altaïr when the time came and the necessity arose, like the nightmare last night. That was a bad one. Malik wanted to read the journal and promised to when he returned to the bureau. For now, he smiled to himself at the almost goofy mood Altaïr was in this morning. It was rare, too rare. He hoped to see it again. _Pears indeed, and honey. If I remember, he really like hot pears with honey over them. Too sweet for my liking, but… he's worth that too, I suppose._

He bought some of all the items he thought about, glad he had brought a side satchel to carry them in. Tibah ran out of her stall to greet him and ask about Naheem. "I did see Naheem training yesterday! But it caused a little more trouble than I expected. He is so sweet. Will I get to see him again?" He raised a brow clearly not understanding her bubbly babble and followed her to the apothecary stall where he politely greeted her father. There Malik learned of Naheem's fiasco. Malik wanted to groan how novice and mentor were clearly too much alike, except Naheem was also his novice.

Tibah leaned into her father's arm, "Naheem brought me flowers, my favourite flowers, jasmine and honeysuckle. It was amazing seeing him about without crutches or a cane or anything."

Malik and Tibah's father both sighed, though for very different reasons. Her father clearly had not had any peace from the encounter. Malik could not be more relieved that Naheem and Tibah had a positive experience that he hoped could lead to more. "My nephew's excursions yesterday took its toll some."

"I can make a medicine or a salve for his leg wound. Should it be a hot one? Or a cool one? What wound did he have?" Tibah's father gave up on trying to say anything to Malik, only looked at him pleadingly whereby Malik shrugged innocently.

"Thank you miss Tibah for the offer," Malik took out a coin from a hidden pouch and handed it to her father. He then described Naheem's wound to Tibah naming the muscles that were cut to free the arrow and clean the infection, along with the state in which it was healed. Tibah's father observed as Tibah pondered the wound and made a suggestion of a salve that earned a nod of approval from her father. Malik and her father quietly re-debated the issue of suitors while Tibah prepared the little pot of salve. As she handed the salve over, Tibah's father was grudgingly willing to consider the possibility of Naheem courting his daughter. Tibah squealed and hugged her father. Both men had not expected her to have been eavesdropping so well on them.

Malik tucked the salve into the side satchel with his fruit and planned his route home. He always tried to take a different route. Targets who stuck to routine were easy targets. Malik wove through the late afternoon crowd as he avoided any contact with guards or thugs as best he could. A glance over his shoulder as he stepped to an alley proved he could still see Tibah who watched him from her stall smiling. Malik tapped his mouth and watched her raise her veil more properly. He shook his head chuckling as he turned.

An iron grip sent pain up his stump to his shoulder and up the other arm to that shoulder moments before the wall and his back slammed into each other. The second the hands released him, Malik braced to run. The guard's fist thudded hard into his gut then into his face till he hit the ground. Another impact in the gut came from the soldier's boot. This was not the average attack and torment. This was deep intent to harm or kill. Malik fought internally against his instincts to fight back. That ended when the familiar sound of steel leaving a sheath caught his attention. This attack was aimed for his life and he had no intention of losing his life. Instinct kicked in and faltered as the pommel of the guard's sword cracked into his brow and again into his mouth.

Malik spat blood and pulled the little knife from his belt. His world slowed to each breath. The guard laughed and stepped in to hit Malik again. It earned the city guard a few well-placed cuts too skilled to be of an average map maker and scribe. "Assassin," murmured the guard as he started to recognize moves and some of Malik's clothing under the black robes. Malik lunged to kill, but his vision was too blurred from the earlier blows. His knife cut the man's face. Pain shot through Malik again as a knee hit his gut. Malik doubled gasping. Plunging his tiny knife into the city guard as he dropped.

Blood dripped in front of Malik's face. A string of Arabic cursing spat at him. A scream from a voice that sounded like Tibah split the air. The guard bolted. Kadar and Tibah arrived. Everything went dark for a few moments then light and full of pain then dark. The fluxing of this made Malik nauseous.

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A/N #2 – *grumbles more at awful fight scene*


	145. Chapter 145: Altair the Monster

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – short chapter to remind people that sometimes… Altair IS a monster…

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Blood dripped in front of Malik's face. A string of Arabic cursing spat at him. A scream from a voice that sounded like Tibah split the air. The guard bolted. Kadar and Tibah arrived. Everything went dark for a few moments then light and full of pain then dark. The fluxing of this made Malik nauseous.

Naheem knelt there too. Malik wondered where he came from and why. Naheem asked again, for the second? For the third time? "Uncle, Malik, what happened, who did this?"

It was Tibah who answered in a shocked whisper, "I saw a city guard hit him. They fought. He stuck the idiot good. I hope that guard bleeds to death for this. They are getting to be such thugs these days."

If there was more, Malik didn't know as he blacked out again.

Malik did not see Naheem turn to someone and nod. "He will be dealt with. Let's get you home." Naheem helped Malik to his feet with Kadar's äid. "I got him," Naheem said sternly to the young man he did not know to be Tibah's brother. "I got him, thank you."

Malik tried to protest he was fine as the humiliation started to set in. Naheem ignored him. When Malik had better control of his feet, he shoved Naheem aside to walk on his own. "I am NOT crippled."

Naheem stepped in front of Malik and crossed his arms. "No you aren't. But, you are hurt and you told me there is no shame in accepting help when you are hurt."

Malik hated more than anything having his own words thrown back at him. He relented and let Naheem help him back to the Bureau. "And how are you going to _deal with him_?" Malik asked suspiciously.

"-**I**- am not. He will be dealt with though."

Malik sighted Altaïr's name. His humiliation now included Altaïr witnessing his failure to fight back and his failure to fight close quarters and his failure to kill… and his failure to remain passive to the attack. Truth be told, the guard aimed to kill him. That was a first. The guard called him an assassin. In a way that bolstered his sense of self. It also told him he and the Bureau were compromised. "We need to move the Bureau."

"No we don't. Not yet. I said he would be dealt with. He's marked. You marked him good. I saw the blood. He won't get far." Naheem reassured Malik.

Tracking the blood was easy. Altaïr followed it till he saw the guard. There were two other's with him now. Malik had left a throwing knife in the man's leg. Like an eagle dropping upon prey in the alley, Altaïr crashed down among the guards. His left hand shot out. The hidden blade deeply embedding in the throat of one guard. He spun drawing his short knife for the narrow alley and cut down the second guard while the wounded one fumbled for his sword and for balance.

His scream of assassin was smothered and cut short.

Altaïr pounced on him and cut the insides of his elbows. He forced the guard's face into the alley's wall and gashed the backs of his knees. Then he stripped the man of his sash and bound and gagged him with a long length with which he used to haul the man onto the roof and out of sight.

Altaïr turned cruel when he was furious. He wounded instead of killed. He prolonged the agony. This man dared lay a hand on Malik. He would suffer. The guard begged, muffled through the sash. Altaïr managed to barely make out words. He barely remembered the Creed and to never disrespect a target. He didn't really respect this one, but gritted his teeth and offered peace, for Malik's sake. Malik would want him to be an assassin and not lower himself to the level of this guard.

The fog came unbidden. Altaïr cursed then took advantage. "Why did you do it? Speak before I damn you to your Hell!"

"Was paid well to deal with a cripple, one who ought not be living well off the rest of us…"

Altaïr's face contorted into something furious and monstrous. The fog dissipated. An assassin in robes more red than white walk away from a roof's alcove. The body left behind was no longer recognizable in the mass amounts of blood sprays and body bits. Chunks of flesh stuck to crates. A skull mashed open rolled lazily in the blood-soaked hay a few feet from the chopped up remains of the body.

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A/N #2 – So… you saw Nina… more of her to come… I promise.


	146. Chapter 146: Malik Injured

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Just a little plug… writing from school. When I get some time at home, I will do the next Altaïr chapter, mostly journal work… then… muwahahahaha…

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Altaïr's face contorted into something furious and monstrous. The fog dissipated. An assassin in robes more red than white walk away from a roof's alcove. The body left behind was no longer recognizable in the mass amounts of blood sprays and body bits. Chunks of flesh stuck to crates. A skull mashed open rolled lazily in the blood-soaked hay a few feet from the chopped up remains of the body.

Malik heard the strangest noises. His mind puzzled over and over the gap in his memory. He had taken a beating in the market place. He had argued with Naheem on the way to the Bureau. Yet now he was stirring in his bed with the smells of his usual incense, the strange sound of chopping, and a little distance away was the sound of Naheem vomiting.

Malik concluded he had collapsed or blacked out from the blows he had taken. His stomach and chest ached from having been punched and kicked and kneed there. His face hurt over the right cheek bone where the fist in studded leather had hit him. A slight shift of his head brought pain where the pommel of a sword struck several blow to his temple. The chopping sound ceased and a moment later and soft cloth that was damp and ice cold gently laid over the large lump on his brow.

"Next time, don't miss with your knife. You are supposed to clean up my messes, not the other way around." Altaïr spoke quietly though it didn't sound like him. There seemed to be no emotion in the words, like a soulless being had spoken.

"Instead, I have to clean up your mess, master Altaïr." Naheem sounded very grumpy. The tinge of blood scent and other smells of death wafted in the air a little.

Malik curled in on himself briefly. He wanted to yell at them both, throw things, but the waves of nausea prevented him. Then a wave of panic pushed him to sitting, "We have to evacuate, move the…" He lurched forward into grey-clad arms and a white robe. The clothing smelled of incense.

"Nothing is moving or evacuating. I dealt with them." Altaïr pushed Malik back into the bed and continued to tend the head wound.

Malik had a surreal moment where he hallucinated being once again in Masyaf in the infirmary there. These same hands with their quiet tones and few words tended him. It was a memory he had forgotten. "Altaïr," murmured Malik.

As usual, there was silence from the eagle. But as Malik curled on his side, Altaïr's hand rubbed his back. As sleep overtook Malik again, he could vaguely hear Naheem complaining in the background about the disgustingness of the robes he was cleaning.

Naheem let out a short yell of horror. Several things crashed as he had leapt away from his discovery. A moment later, he was again vomiting over the waste grill.

When Malik woke again it was to his name being called and then his shoulder being shook. Naheem had learned not to touch before rousing with words. Malik barely recalled that someone had done this almost every hour through the night. Though this time, he sat up slowly. Naheem watched from beside him, unsure if mal9ik should be getting up. Altaïr was asleep on the bed mat across the room, though he rose at the sound of Malik sitting. Altaïr always was the lighter sleeper unless locked in a night terror.

Naheem handed Malik some water to drink. "You gave us quite a scare. I don't know what medicines you should have for the pain, I'm sorry."

"Infusion of willow bark. That should do me well enough. And get me a mirror." Malik touched at the lump on his head, exploring it. Beside his bed was a wood box with a block of ice that had been chipped at with a knife. That explained the chopping noise he heard earlier and the ice cold compress. "Where did the ice come from?"

Altaïr muttered from his bed, "I told Naheem to take coin and see the mountain merchant. I could not find your other block of ice."

Malik groaned. Ice was extremely expensive. It would not last long in their climate either, maybe a couple weeks if that. He took the polished metal mirror from Naheem and inspected his wounds more critically. Nothing seemed broken. They did well for the obvious concussion. The bandaging around his chest was primitive by his standards, Altaïr's work for the possibly cracked rib he had. He was bruised in many places. It would be days or even weeks for these to fade. His bruised ego would take longer to heal. He had been saved and that was humiliating. Thankfully, neither Naheem nor Altaïr were treating him like an invalid.

"Malik. Someone hired him to kill you. Some merchant or other who thought you did not deserve to be well off." Altaïr stated flatly before flopping back to sleep.

That news sat ill with Malik for the remainder of the night. _Someone tried to have me killed because I am doing well as a scribe and map maker?_ It seemed preposterous.

This puzzle would annoy Malik for days. It annoyed him more when he eventually figured out that Altaïr had asked only that far before killing the man and not fully interrogating him. The two growled at each other for several days while Altaïr hunted for information on his official assassination target. Good thing Naheem remained mostly in good spirits and handled anything coming through the front while Malik took things very easy and healed. Altaïr avoided Malik's fury and slept with Naheem on the carpets.

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A/N #2 – Muwahahaahhahaha! Nina in 2 chapters. Muahahahahaha!


	147. Chapter 147: Altair's Lonely Soul

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – I packed a bunch into this chapter. Lots of great little moments. This felt almost like a collection of drabbles!

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Good thing Naheem remained mostly in good spirits and handled anything coming through the front while Malik took things very easy and healed. Altaïr avoided Malik's fury and slept with Naheem on the carpets.

Altaïr eavesdropped from a bench in a courtyard or from the edge of a fountain. He watched long from various high perches in the city and only returned to the Bureau every few days. He hovered in the open-roofed room till greeted, wary of Malik. If Naheem was at the counter, he approached with ease. Malik spied from the back when he heard Altaïr's voice.

Naheem lifted his chin and greeted Altaïr as professionally as he could, like a dai. "Safety and peace, Altaïr. Have you found anything? You were gone near a week." He pushed a plate of dried meats over to Altaïr, the ones he himself was nibbling.

Altaïr accepted the food with a bob of his hood, his gruff voice deep and hushed as he spoke. "I know where the funeral is being held now. At the cemetery in the north of Jerusalem. It is a commemorative service according to the monks and scholars. I have seen some of the Templars dressed finely and bearing expensive gifts. They plan to attend the Muslim funeral. I think it would be a good place to take out Robert."

Naheem was now used to Altaïr's simple short statements. It was also how he trained unless Naheem asked a complicated question, which he tried to do at least once each time they met. "If the Madj Addin was such a horrible person, why are they hosting a commemorative funeral service for him?" He had read about the regent's assassination and reason for it.

Altaïr was not sure how to answer. It was a question that was in the back of his own mind. "I… I don't know." He hated those words. _I don't know._ Now he wanted to know, badly.

Malik stepped out with some juice for them all. "Because it is a political move by the new regent. He is trying to change the negative perceptions that have been left in the wake of the Madj Addin. By doing this, he shows he is a better man with respect even for those who may not deserve it. It also offers the new regent a chance to unite people in the city and encourage economy and discourse."

"Dis-what?" asked Naheem.

"Discourse," Malik replied enjoying opportunity to teach new and intellectual vocabulary to both Naheem and Altaïr. "It means dialogue and discussion along themes. The different scholars and religious leaders here in Jerusalem will all starting to talk about this funeral and what it means. The Madj Addin was cruel to everyone so this unites them all under the same theme and allows them to talk about the same issues."

Altaïr set a scrap of map on the table. "Robert's men will be working with the city guard. They are doubling the protections for the funeral." He backed up a little to let both Naheem and Malik look over the map. It did not look good. "I can avoid them now that I know where they will be."

"But when exactly IS the funeral?" Naheem got straight to the point. Nothing would happen without that bit of knowledge.

Altaïr stayed only long enough to fill his canteens and pack some food. Naheem tried to encourage him to stay and rest, but he protested.

Little did Naheem know, nor Malik for that matter, that Altaïr actually dropped in every few nights like the eagle he was. He would land silently and look over Naheem. His eyes often landed on the cane. Naheem still used it mostly for show now, but sometimes after morning workout, he would really need it. In truth, Naheem would likely always need it, and more so when he got older, if he lived that long. The life of an assassin tended to be short.

Padding delicately from room to room, Altaïr explored the Bureau till he watched Malik through the fake curtain/wall. Malik often groaned and shifted trying to be comfortable with his injuries. Altaïr slipped in and took the moment to rub Malik's back and do what he could to ease the sleeping dai. He had to remind himself over and over that THIS was not his fault. What was his fault was not properly interrogating the man who tried to kill Malik. Altaïr lost his cool and killed him. Although he barely recalled how he had killed him. Everything had gone red and then he was half way to the Bureau soaked in blood.

Malik groaned again before finding comfort. He shifted a little more to offer his back for more rubbing. Altaïr knew Malik was still asleep for Malik would never allow this otherwise. Altaïr's fingers ghosted over the facial bruises, but Malik did not stir. In the darkness, Altaïr just barely made out a bottle beside the bed. He recognized it as a painkiller of a sort, milder that what Altaïr had been knocked out with in the past, but stiff effective. It must be wearing off if Malik was groaning now and then. Malik likely took just enough to help get him to sleep. He was a heavy enough sleeper that once asleep, he would usually sleep through the night unless really awakened by something, like a yell or a crash. Neither happened this night. "Safety and Peace Malik," whispered Altaïr.

Altaïr came in again late one night and sat beside a sleeping Malik, writing in his journal to the fading light of an exhausted oil lamp. He didn't know where Malik kept the lamp oil.

_Robert's men plan to attend the funeral. If it were anyone other than the Madj Addin, I would have second thoughts. Doubling the guards pose a problem, but the map will help me avoid most of them. Is that arrogant? Am I being too sure? Maybe I should consider other possibilities, just in case? _

_Supposedly Robert wants peace and that is why he goes to the funeral. But I know the truth, Master showed me the truth. He does not seek peace but control. Dominion over the land and the people. I will deny him this!_

_I have seen some of the Templars now, the armed ones not the finely dressed ones. They seem well prepared. To fight them would be unwise. Should I lose control of the situation, it might be best to make a brief escape and return later to eliminate them one by one._

_Reaching Robert might prove difficult given the number of guards. Maybe I could join a group of monks or scholars. Then I could make my way to him much more easily. The Creed. I will do my very best to hold to the Creed this time that I face Robert. _

Altaïr paused in his writing to yawn. He had been out searching for information for days. Sometimes he crouched for hours through a night on a narrow ledge or nook listening in at a window to Templars talking. This had been one of those long nights of many and he was tired, more than. He yawned again. Looking over at Malik, he wanted to touch him, wanted to hold him or be held by him. This was one of those stray frustrating moments where he felt the need to…. He picked up his journal before he did actually touch Malik in ways Malik did not want.

_I can't help wondering what I did wrong. I thought I did everything right, but received no reward from the Master. He did not show his pleasure. Maybe I asked too many questions. Maybe my questions were stupid. Maybe he was displeased with my challenges. I should not have challenged him. Yet, he taught me no lessons. I really thought he would when we were in the private office. _

_Every time I see a map, I wonder. _

_Every time I see Naheem's cane, I can't stop the small shake inside. _

_I need to feel that bliss. Yet he denied me. How can I feel it for myself? How will it bring me closer to...?_

_Sorry is not good enough, is it?_

Altaïr yawned several time and curled up there on the floor beside Malik. He abandoned the ink pot and quill and journal for a short nap, or what he hoped would be a short nap. He was too exhausted to realize how hard he actually slept or that he had curled close to Malik in his sleep.

Malik woke to warmth pressing into his back. He stirred warily and rolled over to find Altaïr deeply asleep. His first concern was that Altaïr was hurt or ill. Why else did he do this? But there didn't seem to be any marks or indications of either as his eyes roamed over the assassin. Then he noticed the journal. He carefully sat up and frowned. He corked the ink bottle with an annoyed tisk. The journal still read as moving from language to language every time Altaïr changed paragraph. That was novel. Altaïr wrote in paragraphs now and not either a single long pile of sentences or single sentence paragraphs. Malik was proud of the effort. He laid back down facing Altaïr to watch him sleep till sleep reclaimed him as well.

Altaïr blinked awake as the light changed in the room. He sat up swiftly, gathered his things and hurried out to the main room to finish strapping on his hidden blade. It would be true morning too soon from now and Altaïr wanted to be gone and hunting. He needed that crucial tidbit of information. When was that funeral being held? He packed some bread and cheese into his belt pouched, grabbed a pear from a tray too. He would have to eat that soon or it will become a smelly much in his pouch. He filled his canteens while he watched Naheem. He felt like he had neglected the teen and promised to stay next time he came back, providing he had the time.

When he climbed out onto the roof, the sun was rising beautifully over the city.

"Master Altaïr!" The cheer was soon followed by a 10-yr-old rushing into him and hugging him.

Altaïr felt totally baffled by the experience of Junayd doing this. It seemed distortedly wrong to be hugged on the roof of the Assassin's Bureau by a child, an assassin novice. "I am eleven! Today! Naheem told me that on your birthday you have to hug someone special to share the good fortune or you have no good fortune at all. So I am hugging you, because you are special, master Altaïr." Junayd's actions and words stirred more emotions than Altaïr was prepared to deal with. He stood stalk still for several seconds before lowering his arms around Junayd. After a breath or two he had to push Junayd to arm's length just to reign in his internal mess of emotions.

Junayd bounced back with a grin, oblivious to Altaïr's discomfort. Altaïr watched the boy hop and skip across the lattice like it was a game to not fall through. He wondered where the child found the energy to be awake, this much awake, this early in the morning… earlier since Junayd had to travel from where he stayed to get here. The boy came to the end of the lattice, flopped on his belly and leaned dangerously over the edge. "HELLO! Good morning! Naheem! WAKE UP! I am ELEVEN! And I hugged Master Altaïr!"

Altaïr heard a grown and watched a pillow hit the lattice. Junayd laughed, rolled over the edge and hand-walked under the lattice till he could drop over Naheem. There was a great yell and a tussling. Altaïr shook his head unable to stop the grin that tickled the corners of his mouth as the memory of the crazy silly things he did at that age to Malik tickled his brain.

Then he was off, determined to find out the date and time of the funeral. The awkward emotions spurred by Junayd and by the secret moments that Altaïr watched over or cared for Malik cut deep into the awareness of how lonely he felt. Altaïr climbed the very highest spire in Jerusalem. The wind tugged him like his fierce emotions. The eagle cried loudly as it circled alone around the top. Altaïr crouched in the eagle's place, equally alone. No past. No mate or true and equal friend. No offspring. He let the wind steal his own screams into silence.

* * *

A/N #2 – Nina …. *jaws theme music*


	148. Chapter 148: Mailk: The Calm

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Nina….

* * *

Altaïr crouched in the eagle's place, equally alone. No past. No mate or true and equal friend. No offspring. He let the wind steal his own screams into silence.

There were decent nights and then there were the bad aching nights for Malik with the cracked rib. The bruises were healing, the headaches easing, but broken bones just took longer. Malik gauged everything against the pain he had felt when they took his arm. This was very bearable. Then there were nights that were more peaceful than any he had had.

He had one of those this night. He had woken to Altaïr curled up to him. At first he had worried about Altaïr's health, but he seemed physically fine. Mentally and emotionally was another matter. Even as Malik tisked and corked the ink bottle he knew this was a bad night for Altaïr. Much was written in the journal that Malik promised himself to read later. He watched the deeply sleeping assassin for a little. Altaïr always seemed to have that trouble frown when you managed to look under the hood. Malik fought the urge to gently rub out the frown lines before they became permanent wrinkles on Altaïr's face. But sleep claimed him too soon for that forbidden touch to happen.

When he woke it was to the sounds of a yelling child, Junayd to be exact. Soon Naheem yelled in surprise and frustration and it turned into quite the fight. Malik rubbed his eyes and noted Altaïr's absence. He didn't worry if Naheem would hurt Junayd. Naheem was remarkably too gentle. It sometimes made Malik worry that perhaps being an assassin was not what Naheem was cut out for. But that decision, he wanted Naheem to make for himself. He put himself together and readied for the morning training with his two novices.

Junayd cheered often about his birthday and that he had hugged Altaïr. That surprised Malik a great deal. Junayd had hugged Altaïr! He had to play with that concept for a while in his head imagining it and wishing he had been awake to witness it.

As the training came to a close, Naheem changed the flags outside for the Bureau to be "open for business" as the scribe and map making endeavor it masqueraded as. Before Naheem could re-enter the building, a mostly toothless scruffy message boy ran up him. "Are you da rafiq? Madik? I haff a message."

His missing teeth made pronunciations awkward and Naheem tried not to laugh. "Uh, no and no but yes," he confused the child. "This is the right place, Please come in. My uncle Malik is here to receive your message." He had seen many little message children like this when he was taking care of his sick mother _(God rest her soul)_. The message then had all been from his father and the only indication that his father and mentor _(God rest his soul)_ cared at all for them beyond provisioning. Naheem guided the boy inside and gave him a cup of fresh water and a piece of fruit.

Malik read the note the boy had brought in. _So, Tibah's father wants to meet in a few days. Alright. It is an invitation to … look at his twins? Oh right! Tibah's mother recently gave birth to twins._ Malik tucked the note into his personal log book and neatly scribes a reply of agreement in five days' time.

Naheem worked on a manuscript they were contracted for as Malik finished up a map and set it to dry. He came to look over Naheem's shoulder at the high desk and gave some pointers for the filigrees in the corners of the pages, explaining the symbolism for that particular group rabbi's interests. Naheem proved very talented. Malik only truly realized how talented when he was permitted to look through Naheem's journal which had by far more sketches than words. It was a practice book for him. Naheem seemed to have pages and pages of eyes, noses, hands, facial expressions, bits of the interior of the Bureau, some remembered landscapes, and more. Malik decided to help nurture this talent. He wrote a request letter to an architect he had done some maps for to see if Naheem might be permitted to spend a little time learning drafting. Beyond that, he ensured now that he offered stimulating things for Naheem to try drawing.

The day went on quietly like this, productive and full of drawing. Between projects, Malik read through Altaïr's journal. He ignored the bad spelling. Altaïr would never learn to spell. He remembered Altaïr once telling him that the symbols (letters) never looked like they were supposed to and it frustrated him too much to try to fight them onto the paper coherently. The moral struggling that Malik read reassured him that Altaïr really had learned through this experience and was really questioning his choices trying to make the wiser choice and not the first impulsive thing that came to mind, if he even let it get as far as his mind before acting.

The last pages, however, were dark and troubling. They read like a man addicted to something and suffering withdrawal. Yet Malik knew Altaïr was not addicted to drugs of any kind. _Could he be addicted to the sexual practices that Master Al Mualim engaged in for training Altaïr?_ Malik tried not to think too hard on that. People like that found all kinds of self-destructive ways of dealing with that kind of trauma. It also reaffirmed to Malik that Altaïr was far from ready from anything that could be called a loving relationship. Malik did not want to become the next crutch in the addiction.

In the afternoon, Altaïr dared drop in. "Altaïr! Do you never look at the flag outside!" snapped Malik in shock. _What if clients walked in? What if this blew their cover? Did Altaïr already abandon the Creed? Never compromise the Brotherhood._

"But Malik… I know now. I know when the funeral is scheduled for." Altaïr's excitement soured instantly at Malik's tone.

"Naheem, change the flags now, before someone comes in here. Dammit Altaïr. What if I had someone in here? Some citizen?"

Naheem capped his inks and swiftly packed his scribe work so no possible damage could befall it. Then he grabbed the cane and hurried to the trunk, grabbing the "closed for the day" flag then changed his mind. The rising argument at the counter only decided Naheem on selecting the flag that did say closed, but also warned all Assassins and those in the Brotherhood to stay away. He opened the door and changed the signs as a woman and child walked up to him.

She looked him up and down, "Well, you won't last long. Be careful novice, or the city guard might deal harshly with your… kind." A chill poisonously slid into Naheem's stomach with epic realization. She strode inside the Bureau even as Naheem protested to her. Naheem closed the door knowing it would be for the best.

Malik froze mid-sentence of ripping into Altaïr about protocol. Altaïr turned to see what successfully silenced Malik for a change.

"Nina…" Altaïr's stunned whisper echoed loudly through the main room.

* * *

A/N #2 – Heehee… sorry for the cliff-hanger… hmmm… ok. No I'm not. *GRIN*~

A/N #3 – I need a translation. Not French, not English, not Latin, not German, and no Arabic. I am open to an idea of a curse in a foreign language that Malik could say and that I am able to type with my Canadian/US keyboard. I was thinking, "fucking all the demons of hell" but I am not sure that would be something colourful enough for Malik to say considering this situation, and I sure can't translate THAT!


	149. Chapter 149: Nina's Revenge on Altair

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Short chapter, but… well… Someone called her a beautiful but deadly asp. So, not short and sweet, but short and deadly.

* * *

Malik froze mid-sentence of ripping into Altaïr about protocol. Altaïr turned to see what successfully silenced Malik for a change.

"Nina…" Altaïr's stunned whisper echoed loudly through the main room.

Malik breathed a colourful curse in Hebrew, "Satan's saggy scrotum..."

A woman of average height and build stood in the room dressed as any traditional Muslim might. Her fair skin, pale eyes, and stray blond locks defined her as foreign. She adjusted the child on her hip who whimpered at the strange surroundings and the strange people. His eyes grey and gold, they would be amber gold like Altaïr's when he grew older. A single blond curl hung like a feather light wisp on the baby's brow.

Her sharp eyes stabbed each man where they stood and pinned Naheem back into the door. Altaïr clenched and unclenched his fists and jaw trying to sort out exactly what was happing or about to happen. Malik was not affected, having encountered her already. Malik stepped around the counter through the gate and passed Altaïr.

Before Malik could say a word he was cut off. "Defending him again, Malik? He is not some little boy." Malik snapped his mouth shut to swallow the terrible things he almost said in front of the child. "I figured I would find Altaïr here at some point. I also figured he would be arrogant enough to completely ignore the Bureau's oh so important signage. Even us wives learn to obey it."

Naheem already could see why Altaïr divorced himself of this woman. She was evil incarnate as far as Naheem was concerned.

Altaïr stepped forward his eyes still on the small child as his mind calculated the baby's age and the likely length of time of pregnancy. The almost golden eyes alone spoke volumes of who his father was.

"Don't step any closer, assassin." Nina tightened her hold on the baby. The baby fussed.

"Is he… is he really mine?" asked Altaïr with such wonderment it broke both Malik and Naheem's hearts.

Nina scoffed. "Amazingly, yes. Despite your calling out Malik's name when fucking me. I am amazed a sodomite like you could manage to spill your seed in the right place at all." The baby started to cry. "I wanted you to know you spawned something. I wanted you to feel what it is like to have something you wanted more than anything in the world taken away from you. Now you know. I am leaving. Get your look now, Altaïr, for this is the last time you will ever see your son."

She turned on her heel. Naheem bolted out of her way like she was the Devil. The baby wailed again. Altaïr stretched out a hand wanting so badly to touch… his… son.

Over her shoulder, Nina shot a warning, "Oh, and if I even think I see or sense one of the Brotherhood, or especially you, following me or watching me or anything… I hand him to the Templars who want him oh so badly."

Naheem regretted not locking the door. The baby wailed loudly with the heavy tension in the room. Naheem shrank from Nina and she left unhindered as she had planned. Planned. It took months to plan this encounter. She was surprised to see Malik alive, but that didn't matter. Now Malik and that novice knew Altaïr's shame. No man would openly admit he was in love with his best friend, let alone Altair to Malik. So she let the truth out, very openly. Her revenge was exacted so smoothly that she smiled to herself never looking back on the Bureau.

* * *

A/N #2 – Nina hopes to have poisoned Altaïr's friendships and relationships and well everything for him. Her hate is that deep.


	150. Chapter 150: Malik: Hit with Fallout

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Fallout…

* * *

Naheem regretted not locking the door. The baby wailed loudly with the heavy tension in the room. Naheem shrank from Nina and she left unhindered as she had planned. Planned. It took months to plan this encounter. She was surprised to see Malik alive, but that didn't matter. Now Malik and that novice knew Altaïr's shame. No man would openly admit he was in love with his best friend, let alone Altair to Malik. So she let the truth out, very openly. Her revenge was exacted so smoothly that she smiled to herself never looking back on the Bureau.

The dai and the novice knew Altair too well. Naheem slammed the bolts of the door lock into place as Malik put himself between Altair and the door. Of course Altair would want to try to go after Nina. It was HIS child she had, had and kept from him. Altair felt like he had tunnel vision and at the end of the tunnel were the door and Nina and his… his son. And Malik in the way. Nina's words had not really been heard.

"No Altair, You cannot go after her. You don't want to risk your son. There is enough danger with a hunter after her." Malik's words trickled warningly.

Then it clicked. A mix of panic and fury and desperation drove Altair into action. "You knew! You… you knew she was here! You knew she had a child… MY child… my SON? You knew and didn't tell me?" The rest was unintelligible.

Naheem's eyes widened and he dove out from where he was between Malik and the door as Altair roared and rushed Malik, slamming him into the locked door. The fight was ferocious. To Naheem, a madness seemed to overtake Altair. He backed away from the fighting men till he bumped into the counter. It was like watching two feral cats fight in the back yard of his mother's house.

Malik did not defend himself verbally, but he sure fought back with Altair. They rammed into the large crate of vellum, cracking the wood of the box.

Naheem winced knowing that Malik must have recracked his ribs from that.

They crashed into the chess table smashing it to bits and sending pieces flying. Altair's hidden blade snapped out and sparked off the stone floor as Malik dodged.

Naheem recalled Altair 's robes covered in gore that he had washed a couple weeks ago and went white. He screamed at them, "STOP! Master Altair! STOP! STIP! You are hurting him! Stop fighting! PLEASE! Altair!" It did no good. Naheem ran through the gate into the back. If this trick worked with fighting cats, then maybe it would work with these fighting men. Naheem knew Altair disliked water after all, just not by how much or the reasons why.

There was another clatter and crash, wood breaking. Naheem guess that was the desk chair or the table or both. His heart pounded fast with worry for Malik. What if Altair did to Malik what he did to Malik's attacker? As quickly as he could he struggled with a large basin of water. He slid it onto the counter and pushed through the gate. The men were tumbling and wrestling and yelling at each other in various languages, many Naheem did not understand, or at least using words Naheem had not learned. He got as close as he could to the tangle of arms and legs. He tried hard not to look if there was blood, too afraid he might see some. Then he dumped the basin full of water over their heads and jumped out of the way.

To Naheem's relief, his mentors sprang apart like soaked cats gasping and sputtering and coughing from the water. What did not expect was what followed. Malik yelled Naheem's name like a chastisement. Altair scrabbled to the edge of the wall where he stopped and gasped with a completely blank look that teetered on the edge of terror.

"Don't EVER do that Naheem! Not ever!"

"But Master Malik, he was hurting you! I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought he was hurting you…"

Malik peeled off his wet black robe. "Get towels and clean dry clothes for us both," he snapped. "I'm fine, bruised but fine. Altair would never truly hurt me." Malik was not totally sure of that, but it was said more to reassure Naheem.

Altair swam in a sea of internal panic. Water everywhere. Drowning. Drowning. He coughed and gulp desperate air. He saw nothing but the water. It permeated his clothing.

Naheem dashed off to do Malik's bidding.

Malik knelt near Altair and touched his shoulder. He jumped a little at Altair's swift movement. Altair grappled around Malik, clinging to him like a life-line, like a drowning man. "Altair, it's ok. I got you. I got you." Malik held him back, firmly, listening to the shallow and fast breathing. As Naheem approached, Malik instructed, "Altair, We need to get your armour and weapons off. You have to let me go."

There was a short strangled whimper and Altair gripped Malik's robes tightly.

"One hand at a time then," suggested Malik. And so it went painfully slowly. Altair relaxed just one hand and Malik told Naheem to remove the bits of armour and weaponry a little at a time.

As Naheem removed the waist armour, Altair started sobbing into Malik's shoulder. "I have a son… I couldn't hold him, not even touch him."

"I'm sorry Altair," apologized Malik. "I wanted so badly to tell you, but I knew she would threaten this. I have done everything I can to send the hunter astray of her." Malik tried to sooth this deeply saddened man. He knew how badly Altair had wanted a child. Now to know he had one and watch it being taken from him and used as a tool like this was torturous.

While Altair sobbed out his loss and frustration, Malik hatched a plan in his mind. Altair deserved to hold his son. Malik intended to make it happen, at least once.

* * *

A/N #2 – And no… I am not telling what that plan is… you will have to read as it unfolds.


	151. Chapter 151: Altair: The Calm

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – The calm after the storm.

* * *

While Altair sobbed out his loss and frustration, Malik hatched a plan in his mind. Altair deserved to hold his son. Malik intended to make it happen, at least once.

After several minutes, the sobs broke up awkwardly and Altair forced himself back away from Malik, humiliated to have been seen so vulnerable. He fought to gather his wits, though they seemed so scattered. _I have a son. And if I try to see him, she will give him to the Templars._ Each breath came with great tension as he forced calm over himself.

Of all things, this was the scariest thing for Naheem to witness. Altair felt nothing in moderation. Everything was in extremes. The frightening thing was how he could go from heartbroken to ice cold control in a matter of some focused minutes made Naheem shiver.

The control and calm was only outward. He stood a little unsteadily as he stripped off his wet clothes. He flinched at the small plash his feet made in the puddle of water around them. His fists clenched a moment. Then he dressed as Naheem handing him dry clothing. Malik did the same once he was satisfied with Altair's physical stability. The welts looked angry over his body. Naheem helped him dress and thankfully said nothing.

Malik suggested sitting in the back to talk. Altair's strides seemed so sure, however passing the sounds of the fountains made his teeth chatter uncontrollably till he finally sat on the spare bed. Malik stepped back out and motioned Naheem over. Silently, Naheem helped Malik tend to his wounds and brace the ribs… again.

In the back, alone and quiet, Altair gathered his thoughts. He closed his eyes and recalled the image of that baby. _I have a son. What is his name? How old is he? When was he born?_ He sighed a shuddering sigh. _How has she stayed hidden? How has she avoided a hunter?_

He did not hear Naheem and Malik whispering to each other. Under normal circumstances he could have if he wanted to focus on doing so. However, Altair was deep in his own thoughts.

"Master Malik?" Naheem asked nervously, "She threatened me when she entered. Threatened me that I should be careful or the guards would deal with me. She knew Master Altair was here, but not you." Naheem nibbled his lower lip wondering if he had to say more or not about his hypothesis.

"Thank you, Naheem. I will make sure that does not happen." By the very dark expression on Malik's face, Naheem knew that Malik instantly puzzled out who had hired the guard to try to kill him. Altair didn't need to know that right now. It would only complicate things even more, if that were at all possible.

Altair lifted his head as Malik entered through the curtain into the back. Naheem remained out front to clean up the extensive chaos from the explosion of emotions. The journal sat in Altair's lap unopened. "I want to write in it, but I don't have the words." His hand stroked the soft leather of the almost full journal.

Malik sat on a cushion close to Altair. "The words will come."

They spent the next couple hours discussing the situation of Nina. Malik updated Altair on everything he knew of Nina from the time she was reported in Jerusalem through all the sightings, her habits, and how they have been dealing with the hunter. "If the hunter gets to her, she will run or give the baby up to the Templars. Either way, she will resist him and not return to Masyaf willingly. That means the hunter will kill her and take the baby to Masyaf himself. But your son is too young to be without a wet nurse for that long."

Altair nodded his understanding. He had calmed and tugged his hood up for comfort.

"You still have a mission, Altair." Malik's tone held an unasked question.

Altair answered it. "I know. I can do it." He pinched his eyes and sighed again. Nina was so much trouble from beginning to end. It made him miss Adha who was gentle, sweet, and courageous. Nina was a deadly asp. Altair had referred to her as such on occasion when he and Malik still spoke to each other before the mission to Solomon's Temple. Now Altair had to do his mission and try NOT to be spotted by Nina in case she thought he was following her. His heart felt so heavy. He wanted to curl up into Malik and forget the world, but he didn't dare.

They both heard mild cursing in the main room as Naheem stepped on a chess piece by accident while cleaning.

"Do you want something to eat?" Malik asked, but Altair shook his head.

Altair curled up in a small ball on the bed, hugging his journal to his chest. Malik pulled a blanket over him and patted his shoulder. Then Malik left to check on Naheem and help out there. In truth, just sit and watch and steep some willow bark tea. The hurting was starting to really set in now.

That night, Altair's night terrors were especially bad and many. It was a couple days before Altair could really get back enough real focus to track down more information on his target, Robert. He did recall the date of the funeral. It gave him a little over two months to plan. That news was relayed to the Master who promised to send assassins to start to deal with the growing number of Templars in the city.

* * *

A/N #2 – As we all know… 2 months gives Robert time to bring in Maria and plan his decoy scheme.

A/N #3 – Done for the night. It might be a few days before my next update. I really need to do some homework.


	152. Chapter 152: Malik's Offer

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Why oh why must this be more interesting than religious perspectives of the body in Sufism? I should really do my homework…

* * *

It was a couple days before Altair could really get back enough real focus to track down more information on his target, Robert. He did recall the date of the funeral. It gave him a little over two months to plan. That news was relayed to the Master who promised to send assassins to start to deal with the growing number of Templars in the city.

Malik often remained quiet, even during morning training sessions. His thoughts determinedly puzzling out the situation of Nina and the baby. He observed and gave verbal pointers to his apprentices, but could not participate or demonstrate. Naheem knew then that Malik had been hurt when Altair exploded. While Naheem helped rebandage Malik's ribs, Malik asked, "Tell me again what Nina said to you." He had asked this every day. Naheem knew the scene by heart now.

They weighed the danger of her knowing so much about this place. Since no Templars came snooping about, Malik concluded that they were still safe. Nina would keep this secret if only to make sure she knew where Altair could be found should she want to damage him more.

Malik agreed with Naheem that Nina must have been the person to hire the guard to attack him. For that reason he wanted to keep Naheem close or travel together only. Naheem didn't mind. He didn't think it was insulting at all. He knew his skills with a blade were not yet good enough to fight someone really trained with one, and his hand-to-hand combat skills were still rudimentary. What pleased him more was that Malik would have company. The apprentice could happily break politeness and be blamed for being a teen or being new or both. It worked out well for getting supplies.

There was a meeting in the Bureau for all informants and any assassins in the city. The hunter was not there. Remarkably, Altair was. Though truth be told, Altair slept there most nights to avoid potentially encountering Nina in the night. This meeting was about just that. Malik addressed them all about Nina and her warning. It was not just a warning against Altair, but everyone. She knew who they were and how to identify them. Pissing her off could endanger them all, not just the baby.

Naheem woke to Altair's inability to sleep after that meeting, the knowledge of Nina and the baby again raw in his heart. Naheem wrapped himself around Altair to try to comfort him, as he often did for his own mother when she was so upset by her pains and illness. Malik came in the morning to discover this. At first he was not sure what to make of the sight before him and felt embarrassed by the twinge of jealousy that rose in him. But Naheem was not asleep. Naheem turned a little to see Malik, deep pity in his eyes. Malik understood. Altair was hurting in places he could not heal and Naheem was trying to do the only thing he could think of, do what Malik would have done if Malik had been there to know from the start.

Malik quietly prepared breakfast. He chose to let them both rest there. "Novice Naheem," Malik whispered to not wake the emotionally exhausted Altair, "I need to go out and speak with Tibah's father and see how their newest children are. I fear they may have a problem. I'll be back later today. Manage the Bureau as I showed you, as best you can."

It was too early for most people to be up. Malik veered clear of guards and slipped from shadow to shadow, employing sneaking skills he had not used in over a year. He felt rusty and pushed to recall each lesson. Finally he arrived at Tibah's house. He was let in where he greeted servant.

"Girls." Tibah's father adored them and lamented. "Why oh why could I not have had more sons!" He had one but Kadar wasn't likely to ever have children. That comment hatched another part of Malik's plan in his head. He looked in on Abby. The man was healing well and starting to engage in the family business. Malik patted Tibah's father on the back and told him he inherited a new son and should rejoice.

"Oh great. Yes, I have two sons. I might as well say I have six for the husbands of daughters I have. None of their children are carrying on my family name. And Abby is not about to birth a child nor plant one in Kadar." It was not true grouching, but more amused grousing. He was too happy with the twins baby girls.

The babies were now a month old and just barely able to be viewed. Premature babies tended to be fragile and easily susceptible to illnesses. Malik was invited to inspect them to assure they were healthy and fine. Mother and twins retired right back into the hiding of germ free rooms immediately after.

Tibah's father then drew Malik into a private room to discuss what the matter of Naheem courting Tibah despite his refusal. Malik played completely innocent, claiming that he can't control such a teen in love. The shock was that there was another suitor with a fine offer for Tibah and he was considering it. His concern with Malik's offer was that it did not provide Tibah with anything financial should Naheem die or other tragedies befall Tibah. The negotiation that followed was painful and Malik hated bargaining for a human being. He understood though. Dowries were to be gifts from husband and his family to the bride to be her very own should anything happen and to compensate the bride's family for the loss of their daughter. Malik calculated the funding he had hidden away and then calculated where he could sell the vellum to make up a sum that could not be refused. He only hoped Tibah's father could be patient enough for him to sell the vellum. That in itself would be tricky as Malik had informed Tibah's father when he acquired the vellum by accident on his ship.

Malik then leaned his elbow on his knee. "How many people know you're your daughters?"

"Only the mute midwife," replied the older man. "We dare not tell anyone till the babies are three months, in case, you know… they don't make it. We lost a set of twin boys three years ago."

Malik considered this information and thanked God for it. "Sorry for the other loss. I am glad the little girls are doing well so far. You know you can call on me anytime for them." It was a good way to make a friend he might need. "I have an offer for you. How about a son in exchange for a daughter?"

The man laughed loudly at the preposterous idea. "Do you know how many families made me such ridiculous offers?"

"I am serious. A son, who will know no one else as his father but you. A son to carry on your name. If no one but a mute midwife knows you had twins, then… say you had triplets." Malik had the man hooked with the excitement of the idea, and watched the wariness slowly set it.

"And how will you miraculously manifest such a thing? Steal one from the church orphanage? I don't want one of their flea-infested Christian babes."

"No, not one of them. I have a babe, or will soon, that will need a milk mother and a safe place to hide. I am offering you the son of the Altair Ibn-La'Ahad." Malik let that sink in and watched the man's eyes grow wide.

"The Eagle had a son?"

Malik then took the time to explain the situation that had arisen with Nina, the whole terrible truth of it. "He is a little older by a month than the twins, but was also born small, so he could pass as the larger of triplets. Will you do it?"

"The son of the Son-of-None will be cherished in this house."

It was an agreement. It would take time to happen. In the meantime, Naheem had to play cool while Tibah's father made some careful politics to turn down other suitor without insult. Malik thought the time would be good for Naheem anyways considering the fiasco of the last encounter. Also, Malik wanted to really make some changes to Naheem's training and their hands were somewhat full with the Templars coming into town and the funeral and the contracts and missions to handle, not that Malik divulged all that.

* * *

A/N #2 – Welcome to part of Malik's plan…


	153. Chapter 153: Comfort YAOI

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – So… why didn't three assassins take out Nina when she was in the Bureau? First is shock factor. Second is that Naheem is not a killer, not really, likely not ever. Third, Altair was too stunned about that being his son. Fourth, to kill her might cause her to hurt the baby (drop it or worse, she might actually have her own small blade hidden under the blankets to stab it if they try to kill her, Malik believes that). Killing her has to be timed for when she does not have the baby in her arms. Malik is already plotting.

A/N #2 – oh… YAOI…

* * *

Malik wanted to really make some changes to Naheem's training and their hands were somewhat full with the Templars coming into town and the funeral and the contracts and missions to handle, not that Malik divulged all that.

Altair slowly woke, feeling held and warm. At first he thought it was Malik. The soft voice that greeted him from behind came from Naheem. His first impulse was to jerk away and refute this invasive touch. His second was to curl into it deeply in desperation and the need to feel held, loved. He gritted his teeth against the urges and the rising want to feel more, more that helps one forget, even if that forgetting is but for a fleeting moment. He gripped Naheem's arms and held the tight around him as if he was going to fall apart into many little pieces if Naheem let go.

Naheem held fast. "Master Malik will fix this. He fixes everything."

Altair wished that were true and thought how naïve Naheem was for thinking such a thing.

Naheem felt Altair relax in his arms after. He was not sure what else to say. What could one say in the dark wake that Nina seemed to leave behind like oily smoke that clung heavily to and ruined everything. Only in hindsight did Naheem think of the million things he could have done, even as a novice assassin.

"Master Altair, what can I do?"

Altair tried to think of a proper suggestion. _What would Malik tell him?_ "Whatever you were told to do. Whatever you promised to do…" That sounded right. That sounded wise. That sounded like Malik. Oh wait, those were once Malik's words to Altair.

Naheem interpreted his words very differently though.

Naheem held his breath and chewed his lip before swallowing hard. He took a few steadying breaths. His nervousness resounded in the pace his heart took. He wondered if he should get up and change the flags and lock the lattice roof. He wondered if someone might spy them through the lattice. He shifted a little to move away only to be held firm by Altair. The sense of risk was a mix of panic and excitement. He tried to banish all thoughts and keep only the task in mind. _Like a mission, stay focused and let your body move as it needs to. It knows how by instinct._ It was something he learned while trying to walk wooden beams placed on the floor. _We start be learning to walk before we learn to run and jump._ So he decided to take this slow.

His eyes flitted about recalling the need for salve and breathing a silent thanks to God for the pouches within his reach, though Altair would have to let at least one of Naheem's arms go if he was going to make use of that. _Walk before running, stupid novice!_ Naheem noted they were very clothed and that nothing was going to happen in that state.

Altair felt Naheem's small tenses and shifts through the teen's thoughts without knowing what those thoughts were. Naheem's fingers caressed Altair's chest finally and he knew. He was afraid to hope, but his addicted need stirred that hope anyway. He relaxed his grip on Naheem's arms and kept his breath steady in case he was wrong. Naheem's hand fumbled its way down and Altair sighed. _Yes, let me feel and forget, just for a little while._

Altair gave in and closed his eyes finding himself trusting Naheem's inexperienced touch. In a way, the inexperience made Naheem more trustworthy than someone experienced. His own hand covered Naheem's to help guide it till finally Altair very hard and emitted a soft moan that was barely audible.

Naheem found this not unlike arousing himself and sensing Altair's arousal was in turn shyly aroused. With some awkwardness, Naheem managed to undo each of their pants and push them down far enough to be bare against one another while still lying on their sides, spooning like lovers. Pressed between Altair, Naheem found that part of Altair remarkable soft compared to the callouses and scars on the rest of his mentor's body.

Altair shifted his hips and Naheem gasped. It took a few more small shifts before Naheem found a chaste pace. The room warmed from more than the early morning sun and Naheem was sure he would sweat soon. His breath was heavy on Altair's neck. His bit his own lower lip again to keep himself quiet. Reaching for the little salve jar was easy. Opening it was frustrating. He was sloppy with his lubricating efforts. He needed to ret8urn to the gentle rocking to refocus and to try to banish from his mind what he was about to do.

Altair had not realized how badly he wanted it till the reality of this possibility was clear. He arched a little, wanting, wanting like a thirsty man in the desert wants water. When Naheem finally adjusted into the right position, he breathed, "there… yes… there…"

Naheem had never actively penetrated anyone or anything before. It was all theory and fantasy… and female. He understood why Altair sometimes asked him to close his eyes. He did so now and wondered if this is what Altair had done before to answer the question of what it was like to be in a woman. He pushed a little against the tight entrance, feeling it relax and open for him. He rocked back and forth till the pressure grew then he knew he had pushed past the tense ring of the entrance. He gasped aloud at the surprise of the sensation.

Altair groaned quietly into his hand and kept rocking to encourage Naheem to continue.

Naheem bit hard on his lower lip. He pushed a little and found himself slightly trapped as he pulled back, then pushed in again. It was like a gentle tug of war that sent fire through his thighs. He deepened each push as he savoured the feelings. He wondered how long he could hold out. He panted into Altair's neck. Pacing himself with their breathing. "How… how deep… How deep can I … go?" Curiosity called the question out. Altair always answered the strange and awkward questions.

"Very… please…"

The novice complied to the master. Naheem did not last long though, not remotely as long as Altair would have liked. That bliss was but seconds. Altair almost did not finish with Naheem, but was grateful for the teen's bravery and compassion and effort. Altair hoped this might happen again with better results. Practice made perfect after all.

Naheem did not feel as revolted by this act as he was by the reverse positions. In fact, he concluded that he could do this again, maybe better next time. Maybe with practice, he could become a very good lover. He asked Altair about that.

Altair confirmed it for him. Your wife, when you have one, will be pleased well by you." Altair decided on today's information hunting, he would also find something for Naheem to help him court Tibah.

Without discovery, they cleaned up, ate food and got back to work. No one would ever know what transpired. Before Altair left, he rested his hand on Naheem's shoulder. Those golden eyes softened as they looked at the teen. "Thank you, Naheem." He pulled up his hood and flew out the roof with the pigeons.

* * *

A/N #3 – Please no grousing about Naheem x Altair. It is plot worthy what I am doing. It will happen once more in this fic. Now you know in advance, so brace yourself.


	154. Chapter 154: Malik Schemes

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – plot… plot… plot….

* * *

Before Altair left, he rested his hand on Naheem's shoulder. Those golden eyes softened as they looked at the teen. "Thank you, Naheem." He pulled up his hood and flew out the roof with the pigeons.

Considering the tentative success he had with Tibah's father, Malik now needed to ensure he could follow through with all his promises. He walked through the streets thinking about who he could possibly sell the precious yet very illegally obtained vellum. His found that his feet lead him to a set of stairs where a black feather crossed a white one. Three stairs went up to a door of a large building. It was where the Gnostic met. Malik picked up the feathers recalling Tibah's dreams and the other few yet very odd encounters he himself had had.

Malik adjusted his side satchel, walked up the steps and knocked upon the door. Nothing. He knocked again. Again nothing. He waited for several minutes then once again knocked. Sighing at his failure, he descended the few stairs. The door unlocked and creaked open, "Do you give up so easily, Master of the Sword?"

Malik protested that he would have returned. The stranger laughed and invited him up the stairs to the door. "Why have you come? Are you ready now to open your mind? Are you ready for gnosis? For Sophia?"

Malik weighed this trick question, wondering if it was a trick at all. _Am I ready? For knowledge and wisdom?_ A couple years ago, he would have confidently stated he was. _Was I really that arrogant then? Was I really no better than Altaïr?_ "No, I do not think I am ready." The former dai had stated so. Malik was too wrapped up in his own world of affairs to be ready for this secret order. Maybe when he was old and retired. "I have come with an offer of trade, if you trade with coin."

"We trade with knowledge but sometimes coin for knowledge."

Malik nodded, "How about for something worthy of recording this knowledge upon?"

The man in the doorway seemed unimpressed, "We really can't use paper. It is a waste and does not last."

"How about vellum?" Malik ventured in a quieter voice.

There was silence from the man, and then the door closed and locked. Malik heard the man's retreating feet and voices within. He waited, hoping. Many moments later, the door opened again and he was invited inside. _Victory!_ Malik remained outwardly calm.

He was lead through a long room where men sat and discussed various issues over drinks, game tables, hookah pipes. Inside it appeared to be a house of sin. Belly dancers entertained, though with their husbands close by. He saw all kinds of men from all cultures in here. This was the other side of Gnosticism Malik had heard tell of, their decadent ways, their fall into depravity. At the end of the hall, there was a stair upwards and a series of rooms around the stair. A door opened to a stair downward. _And here I descent into Hell or meet Shaitan. Oh wait, I have already done so. _Malik mentally mused to himself till his thoughts were silenced in awe.

The lower floor contained shelves of scrolls and books, alcoves of religious relics, shrines to several religions practices. "No faith is turned from us. All who seek to know, all who are ready, all who strive to be wise are welcome in the halls of gnosis for Sophia. When you are ready, rafiq, we will be here for you. This way please." Malik followed along trying to drink in the wonders all at once. He entered a side room before English accented Latin Christian prayers could call him to turn and look.

There he sat with an old man and discussed vellum and gold. The man spoke Persian, not quite Arabic, but his Arabic came through clear enough. They made a discreet arrangement. Malik wanted to hoard his vellum for his own writing. But in the face of this, all this, he could not do it. Selling it to them would make him one of the wealthiest men in Jerusalem. He decided to keep some, enough for a few very important journals, the rest he agreed to part with. He decided this would be best to keep secret. He had a feeling, that it would be needed soon for the Brotherhood. Considering Robert's first attack and the costs of the recovery damage, Malik knew this find could not be his alone. He would make a small personal use of it for supplies, a dowry, books… He immediately stopped planning, not wanting to jinx anything.

As he stepped out of the room to be guided back out and froze. His eyes fell upon the large man chanting his slow Christian prayers. A Templar knelt there. All of Malik's instincts jumped. He had no suitable weapon to defend himself with, no sword, and Altaïr had proved to him that he was not such a good fighter in small close quarters like this. His guide noted the growing tension. "We accept all who are ready to open their minds to knowledge and wisdom." After a pause the man then whispered, "Perhaps you could help us with him? We have had a small rumour from a bird about your skills in doctoring. He gestured for Malik to approach the Templar.

The large Englishman stopped his prayers in a slightly shaking tone. His head turned a little at the sound of Malik's hesitant approaching steps. In decent Arabic he spoke, "I will not harm you. I can see you fear me."

"I do not fear a Templar," Malik almost spat out in his protest against the truth of his feelings.

"No, you just hate instead. That is alright. My own hate me too. I was caught curiously reading the Quran and declared a blasphemer, a heretic and traitor." He turned and Malik could not help the swift intake of his own breath. "May my eyes never again see such evil. That is what they told me before they exacted their punishment. God is All, though. I pray for peace within and without now. I pray… He can…" He turned away.

Malik could hardly believe the sight. The blood was just dried on the man's face from where his eyes had been gouged out. "Why has he not been treated?" he could not believe he was asking for care for a Templar. The explanation was obvious. No Templar would treat this man since he was a blasphemer, for reading the Quran of all things. Malik thought that was ridiculous. The smart man would read the Quran in hopes of understanding his enemy better in order to defeat him. Also, in this building of knowledgeable people, they lacked one with medical skill.

Malik cautiously approached and knelt beside the man at the Christian shrine. "Will you let me help you?" he asked in English.

The Templar breathed the word assassin, already knowing that they were multi-talented. "Will you help bring peace?"

"I cannot bring peace to your soul. That you will have to do on your own, but my Brothers will try their best to bring peace to this part of the world." Malik traitorously found himself saying, since the man had already seemed to have deduced what Malik was.

"You remind me of a friend I had some time ago. God rest Faruq's soul. He taught me Arabic… and more." The sadness and loneliness in the Templar's voice spoke so many volumes to Malik of the unknown life of his brother.

Malik dug into his satchel and used his emergency treatment kit to clean and stitch and heal this man. This man, who knew his brother, perhaps intimately. Malik had always wondered why Faruq took no bride. Perhaps Faruq, like Malik preferred men to women. Malik wanted to suddenly ask this man so many questions. But what if it was a different Faruq?

They retired to a small bed chamber for the final stitching and bandaging. Malik gave him the tiniest bit of painkiller he had with him, telling the others where they could get more and how to treat this man. The Templar chanted his prayers to help him endure the further pains of treatment.

From the cot after the surgery and bandaging, he reached up and tried to take Malik's elbow, finding only the stump. He then patted it lightly, "Will I live?" Malik assured him he would. "Good. We should talk. There are traitors among us. Even Richard doesn't know, or your Brothers… we are all in danger…" He would have said more, but the drug Malik gave him took hold.

_Yes, we will speak again, Templar. You know things I must know._

Malik instructed the people of this Gnostic order how to care for their injured member. He still could not believe he just treated a Templar. The man was not really a Templar though. He was too educated. He knew Faruq's name. That twisted in Malik a great deal. He finally concluded as he shaded his eyes from the noon sun that it could not have been his brother Faruq.

He debated briefly about the safety of being out in small back and forths or out in one long get everything done errand day. Naheem was likely worried. And amused grin tweaked at his lips and he changed direction to visit the family of one of his informants. The informant was out, but his pregnant wife and small daughter were home. Malik asked if they had sent the pigeons off to Masyaf yet. He wanted to use one to send a message to his apprentice at the Bureau. This is exactly what he did, to teach Naheem how to deal with a message, to reassure Naheem that he was fine and would be back later, and for his own personal weird amusement.

Now he had a trap to lay….

Malik and Altaïr deal with anger in very different ways. Altaïr gets annoyed and he yells or hits a wall. Altaïr gets angry and he turns inward, bottling it up till he is triggered and explodes. When Altaïr is truly furious, people die horrible gruesome deaths as he rips them apart in a red-blind rage. Malik gets annoyed and he bites verbally or throws things. Malik gets angry and he demolishes a room. Get Malik truly and deeply furious and he gets even… or worse. He already regretted ruining much of Altaïr's ego for while he blamed Altaïr for things outside the assassin's control. Nina on the other hand… Malik was too level-headed to make that kind of mistake again. She was a poisonous asp when she first married Altaïr and nothing much had changed since.

Junayd was more than happy to run around delivering messages to the other informants. They were to inform the hunter of how to hedge Nina in. Junayd came back to Malik at the old dai's home to report each mini mission. There Malik learned of the Hunter's disdain for the waste of placing an incompetent cripple in charge of a city Bureau. Other unsightly bits of information finally trickled back to Malik about this hunter, how he has killed several women now within the city. _Stay your blade from the blood of an innocent._ He learned how the Templars are on the watch for assassins; someone had been making attempts on them then vanishing. _Hide in plain sight, never reveal yourself._ And if he killed Nina and took the baby on his own to Masyaf, there would be no hiding. He would lead everyone back to Masayf by the wailing child till it died along the way for lack of a wet nurse. _Never risk the Brotherhood._ Malik had to lay a double trap then. His timing would have to be very careful and very precise.

The trick was not to tip off Nina and drive her to the Templars.

As Malik walked home to the Bureau, the sun set in lovely shades of blood red. Tomorrow would be a very hot day. His mind wandered as he walked, plotting out the steps and nuances of his own private mission, playing over the risks. Then he thought about the little things that had happened in the recent past. His walk was slow for his ribs ached. Thankfully, he actually had not recracked that rib, just earned a great many bruises.

He played the scene with Nina in the Bureau over again in his mind. Like Naheem, many things came to him for what he could have done… if only he had two hands. That was the only thing that prevented him from acting, from killing her there. He could not trust he could catch the baby when Nina dropped. He could not predict Altaïr's possible reaction. There were too many problems and in the end he had not acted at all. Her words drove daggers into them all and then they simply let her go. She was not getting away a second time. She would run anymore, not if Malik could do anything about it.

He stopped as a few thoughts skipping into his mind. _Altaïr says my name when he engages intimately with people?_ It was odd to hit him now and color warmed his cheeks with a mix of pleasure and humiliation. Then it dawned on him that Naheem had not been remotely surprised by that. _Does Naheem know?_ That spurred a twinge of jealousy as Malik wondered how Naheem might know. Altaïr would never… not with his novice… Naheem would know better. Naheem doesn't have interests in men. Malik shook his head and finished the last few meters to the Bureau.


	155. Chapter 155: Altair Dead?

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Please, don't kill me! Read all the way to the end before you panic!

* * *

Altaïr would never… not with his novice… Naheem would know better. Naheem doesn't have interests in men. Malik shook his head and finished the last few meters to the Bureau.

Altaïr moved from perch to perch, alley to alley, almost aimlessly. His thoughts plaguing his waking mind instead of just his sleeping mind. Nina. A son. _My son._ Every time he heard a child cry he slammed himself into hiding. The past few days have unproductively been like this. Last night's meeting just anchored his anxiety. The image of his son just out of arm's reach danced in his vision. He wanted to kill her. He still did. But did he had the right to take away her life? He doubted the rights and wrongs of it till it paralyzed him. He would never have thought about it a year ago. Now it was all he could do to not think too hard on it. Each target planted these seeds of doubt and wonder.

Then there was the brief respite this morning. Naheem. Naheem had misinterpreted him and took initiative to do something Altaïr never thought would happen. It wasn't really Naheem he wanted that from. He didn't really know who he wanted it from. He just wanted. He had wanted so badly, he was ready to get creative with strange items and objects he could find. Naheem did well enough. Altaïr partly wanted more and none at all at the same time. He hated the wanting. He hated feeling like he did something wrong all the time and needed a lesson or punishment. He hated how badly he wanted that one small moment that was bliss, like touching God.

_But what was it like to really touch God? What if there is no God? What if it is all illusion, fantasy? What if my targets are right? That there is just… nothing? But then, what if there is a God? What would God think of all I have done? Have I sinned so much? How could I redeem myself? _

He wanted forgiveness, from Malik and from whatever moved the heavens and earth. Then again, maybe what he had done was so terrible that this situation with Nina and the baby was part of his torturous punishment. He wondered how much he could handle and found himself once again on a high perch, the eagle upset with the invasion. _What if it ended here? Would anyone care?_

He still had a mission and Nina had become a complication and interference. Logic bade that she be ended and soon as a liability. He let his vision shift and watched the shimmering forms of red and white and a few blue wandering below. Then he saw a blink of gold. Nina. He shook his head from the vision. Nina was not his target. Robert was. Templars were. Four templars for information. He spotted them soon enough and dove. He wove through the crowd, his hidden blade biting swiftly into one then another as he slipped between people and was gone before their bodies hit the floor and people screamed. He received his information and disappeared.

Redemption and death. They seemed to go hand in hand. He climbed a tower for another eagle's eye view. Then Naheem's words about saying sorry surfaced. They distracted him a moment as he considered them. The Templar on the roof of the tower, however did not care about Altaïr's thoughts. The French words about the last time this assassin tried to kill him failing never registered in Altaïr's ears. Altaïr made a desperate stab with his hidden blade while clinging to the outer edge of the wall. The blade glanced off the armour as the Templar's plated fist grabbed the front of Altaïr's tunic and shoved.

He did not scream. Altaïr would never make a noise for the enemy or anyone. He could not help flailing though in the nothingness of the air rushing past him before instinct and training finally kicked in and he righted himself in his frantic fall. The wagon of hay was not directly below. A snap of his robe helped him tilt just an inch, maybe enough to get him into the hay. Suddenly he wished a thousand panicky things. He wished he had just said sorry to Malik, even if he was never forgiven. He wished he had rushed Nina and tore the child from her or at the very least actually touched his son, just once. Hay pricked and swallowed him as he had turned and landed in a messy toss of hay bits on impact.

The Templar watched the fall. He watched the thump and scattering of hay. He stayed watching to see if this assassin got up out of the hay as the other one had. He grinned for having been ready this time. No movement happened in the hay below for the many long minutes that he watched. "Un assassin mort!" he cheered. "Merci Bon Dieu!"

There really was nothing. Darkness, numbness, nothing. There was no God. There was no redemption. Nothing. Altaïr was disappointed.

… … …

…

Later in the day, a boy of maybe eight or nine called his brother over, "Ishmail! Look! There's a dead guy in the hey!"

The young teen brother came to see. "So there is." He poked the grey-brown pant leg. Then he touched the white robes and traced a finger over the fancy metal arm bracer of the body's left arm. "He's missin a finger too'. Isaac, lift the hood. Let's see his face."

"I don't wanna lift it. You lift it. You're the big brother." he protested since the hood hid most of the body's pale face. They could see some blood dried on the neck where it had oozed from maybe the corps's ear or nose.

"Fine. You are such a baby." The teen lifted the peak of the hood. The foreign pale face had bled from the nose and right ear. The light brown hair was matted with some blood that soaked through the hood.

Golden eyes snapped open to too bright afternoon sun. The dead man coughed and gasped before resuming breathing shallow again enough to think he was dead.

"AAAAAHHHHHHH!" the teen let go of the hood and bolted across the street with his brother.

The golden eyes closed again welcoming the quiet as the awareness of the screaming boys faded as they ran in fright. _So, I am not dead. Or am I and I just don't know it yet?_ He started with his memory of what happened. He fell. How strange! He never falls, not off a tower. No, he was pushed, by a Templar who seemed to have been waiting for him. Ready. They should not be expecting him. Maybe he was too distracted with thoughts of Nina and the baby.

He slowly wiggled his toes. There was no pain. Altaïr felt no pain at all. That was not a good sign. Pain told you that you were still alive. He shifted his feet and legs. He felt a wave of relief that he was not a quadriplegic. That would be death, long and slow. He took a deeper breath, and then felt pain. _I'm alive after all._ He knew he had not made a graceful landing, not even a decent landing. Not even a novice-bad landing. It was worse. Why he lived, he did not know. He landed mostly in the wagon's cushioning hay. He stretched his back and gritted his teeth against the ache. He wiggled his fingers. His left hand rose and wiped the blood and sticky hay from his face. His right arm abandoned his will entirely. He made a fist and forced it to move. Stars exploded behind his eyes as he heard thunder in an ear that at first heard nothing.

He opened his eyes to see stars through the hay and took stock of his body all over again. Then Altaïr very carefully sat up. He braced himself against the pain. Ready for it. It was easier to bear now that he expected it. He still could not move his right arm much. It didn't hurt unless he tried to lift it. It didn't make sense to him.

"_Malik will fix this. He fixes everything."_

Naheem's naïve words encouraged Altaïr to return to the Bureau. He sat on the roof looking down wondering how he would get there. Slowly and precisely, he hung from his left arm and dropped. The roll was graceful enough and saved him further injury, but he remained on the carpets. Naheem's yelp of surprise at the sight of Altaïr told Altaïr he must look worse than he felt. "I told you never to do that. I already had children do it in my ear and I think they made me deaf," Altaïr grumbled and both Malik and Naheem knew he was not so injured.

After inspection, it was a goodly smack to the side of his head, easily treated, and a seriously dislocated shoulder that hurt way more to correct than it did getting into the dislocated state. Altaïr agreed to stay overnight for "observation" as Malik put it. Although clearly Altaïr's hearing was fine since he heard Malik's annoyed comments about the ruination of a robe he just got. Altaïr seemed to go through robes like babes through bum-rags.

* * *

A/N #2 – *wipes brow seeing as I am still alive and you have all read through to this point.*


	156. Chapter 156: Malik: Restraint

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – The question was bound to get asked…

* * *

After inspection, it was a goodly smack to the side of his head, easily treated, and a seriously dislocated shoulder that hurt way more to correct than it did getting into the dislocated state. Altaïr agreed to stay overnight for "observation" as Malik put it. Although clearly Altaïr's hearing was fine since he heard Malik's annoyed comments about the ruination of a robe he just got. Altaïr seemed to go through robes like babes through bum-rags.

Altaïr sat against in the back propped with a pillow on the spare bed, his journal in hand. He just stared at it not knowing what to do. Malik wondered what ate at or seemed to paralyze Altaïr's thoughts this evening. As he brought in some late food out to Naheem, he blinked a few times to see what the young man was deeply concentrating on. Looking over his shoulder, Malik saw a deep red rose with some thorns on the stem. The petals were a little crunched, but Naheem managed to smooth them out. The teen was sketching it in as much detail as he could in many little roughs. On a clean piece of vellum, he had drawn a few starting lines.

"Where did you get that?" Malik asked.

Naheem looked up with a dimpled smile, "Master Altaïr gave it to me." He turned back to drawing the rose.

Jealousy was a terribly green monster. "And… why is he giving you roses?"

Naheem looked back up at Malik like he had two heads for a moment, "So I can know what one looks like. So I can draw it. Maybe… if I draw a real nice one that looks like a white rose, Tibah will like it?"

Malik winced inwardly at the stupidity of his jealousy. Of course Naheem wanted one to draw to make up for the white one he could not find for Tibah. "Don't stay up too late. Tomorrow you start drafting lessons, architectural drafting lessons. I'll give you the address in the morning."

"REALLY?" Malik did not remotely expect just how much excitement sparked in Naheem's eyes. Tibah would have hard competition with Naheem's desire to draw, unless she let him draw her.

"Yes, really." Malik peaked at the rose and the sketches. "I think she will love it. Maybe we will try sneaking you into the market square again so you can draw her as a gift for her father." Malik was comfortably pleased to see Naheem blush shyly.

He returned to the back with his own private log book to note things from his day. "Altaïr. You are just staring at it. The words will not manifest by your will or by sorcery." He tried to keep his tone light, joking. If it were Naheem, the response would have been laughter. However it was Altaïr. His response was to shrug and then growl at the pain the shrug caused him. Malik sighed, turned down the oil lamp and sat upon his own bed. "Then why don't you read something?"

"Do you read my book, Malik?"

Malik had this feeling that everything Altaïr was going to say and ask tonight would be very loaded and he would have to tread carefully. "Yes, I read everything."

"You never talk to me about what you read. The things in here… they don't leave me."

Malik set his log book down and turned to face Altaïr, sitting cross-legged for comfort. "I am processing it. There is a great deal that seem like many small scattered pieced to a much bigger problem or puzzle. But despite everything you write and all the research I have done so far, I can't yet see the links or find the solution. I don't know who the traitor is. But there definitely is one. And… if you are still wondering, you are not crazy. I believe your words and visions."

Seeing Altaïr relax from this simple admittance relived Malik. Altaïr seemed always so wound tight. He was afraid he would do something foolish. In fact, considering all this with Nina, he had thought that maybe Altaïr had done something foolish, but training and instinct prevented him from truly succeeding. "Come here, Altaïr. I know how to ease your shoulder pain without drugs."

Altaïr rose from the spare bed and approached. As directed, he removed his hood and shirt, but would not meet Malik's eyes. He sat in front of Malik and turned his back to him as Malik asked. Malik scanned the small head wound and snapped his fingers by Altaïr's ear. Altaïr flinched. "See, you can hear just fine from it." Malik then looked at each scar. He knew them by heart from healing Altaïr. It was the ones he had no hand in healing he looked for. The shoulder was bruising black and purple. "You should not go throwing yourself off of buildings like a fool." Altaïr's jaw clenched, though the rest of his shoulder and back muscles did not. The fact that Altaïr did not retort back worried Malik that maybe Altaïr had actually tried just that.

"A Templar was on the tower. He surprised me. He was ready for me. He pushed me off."

Malik gently knuckled through the muscles, avoiding the bruises, rubbing out the tensions. "You have to be more careful. With all the assassins out there, and all you have done to this point. You have to assume they expect you. Be on your guard for just that." He opened his hand and massaged Altaïr's neck and shoulder and arm. "Does this help?" Malik asked after maybe twenty minutes of massaging. Altaïr did not answer at first, so Malik ran his fingers carefully through the short feather soft hair. "Altaïr?" At that he heard a soft sigh and Altaïr's body relaxed a little more. Malik smiled knowing it did indeed help and Altaïr was drifting mentally and not really listening.

"Malik?" came the assassin's near whisper full of uncertainty.

Malik chose to remain silent this time. _Say my name again Altaïr. You never say it enough and I like hearing you call me by name and not by title. Say my name because you trust me._

Altaïr half turned, "Malik? Is there a God?"

The question totally caught Malik off guard. "Of course there is."

"I have always said there is no God. Sibrand said there was nothing, that it was all a lie. That is why he was afraid, that when he died there would be just… nothing."

Malik frowned. Altaïr had been contemplating the existence of God. He wondered where this odd revelation came from.

"When I fell, I wondered what would happen to me after. I wondered if there would be nothing. For a long while, I could not move. I thought maybe I was going to die. But I didn't die, so I don't really know. And," Altaïr turned fully around to face Malik, clearly on a role with his thoughts out loud, "and if there IS a God, why would he let such terrible things happen in the world? Is he such a terrible God? Has he maybe abandoned us because we are all such horrible creations? And if he is watching over us, what does he think about what we do? Are we doing the right thing or the wrong?"

This was definitely not what Malik had expected. It was not unlike the question Naheem had asked about God and their profession. However, it was so loaded with concern and need for justification or answers. It was also more than Malik though he was ready to answer. Yet, how could he not try to answer Altaïr? Those golden eyes pleaded for… something. Malik knew he could not give Altaïr the answer he gave Naheem, unfortunately.

"Whether there is a God or not, Altaïr, everyone needs something to have faith in. I believe that there is a God. I also believe that he respected us enough to give us the freedom to choose our fates. Some choose very poorly, so poorly that they force the fates of others. We act as the ones to deal out what must be done, what no one else has the courage or the ability to do. It is a heavy responsibility, and we do our very best." Malik wondered though if perhaps mistakes do get made. _But we are only human and not perfect._

"Altaïr, you of all of us know better about what is out there. You meet them at the moment between life and death. You speak to the dying souls. Some will be afraid, some won't. Don't let the fear of other paralyze you." Malik needed to believe in something more out there. He was the last of his family after all. Faruq and Kadar must be in a better place. Malik needed to believe that for his own heart and sanity.

Malik and Altaïr sat so close that Malik could see the shifting in the shade of gold in Altaïr's eyes. Their eyes met and held for a long while before Malik spoke again. "There is something out there, Altaïr. If you can't trust yourself, then trust me." Malik felt his own heart skip as he spoke. _Trust me, Altaïr. Please trust me._

Altaïr closed his eyes in a gesture of trust. Malik could simply lean in and press his lips to Altaïr's. It was an invitation of sorts, a silent one between them. Malik wanted to lean in, wanted to warm himself against Altaïr's mouth. He raised his hand and brushed the hair back from Altaïr's brow. _Do not become his crutch. He needs to heal first. He is too broken for this. If I do what I want, it is taking advantage of him. That is not fair to either of us. And, it could do more damage than good._

Malik swallowed his desires back. "Get some rest, Altaïr."

* * *

A/N #2 – It is so hard to do the right thing sometimes… even for Malik.


	157. Chapter 157: Altair Snuggling YAOI

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – I know it is short. I have a ton of homework to do and my own dislocated shoulder to contend with. You should see another chapter in a few days after I hand in my homework.

* * *

Altaïr closed his eyes in a gesture of trust. Malik could simply lean in and press his lips to Altaïr's. It was an invitation of sorts, a silent one between them. Altaïr hoped for Malik's affection. Malik raised his hand and brushed the hair back from Altaïr's brow. "Get some rest, Altaïr."

Altaïr knew it would end like this. How else could it end? Malik had already rejected him a while ago. Malik had all the reasons in the world to not want such things with Altaïr. There still was no forgiveness. Altaïr had yet to ask for it and he knew it. It didn't mean that the rejection now didn't hurt. It hurt like hell. Altaïr pulled his shirt back on and his hood, seeking the shallow comfort its shadow gave him. He felt naked like he had exposed himself indecently and inappropriately. He pulled on all his robes and armour, though not the weapon, as if the armour could protect him from what was roiling within.

He had foolishly made Malik another offer of himself and been turned down. The embarrassment stung. He laid on the spare bed facing the wall. It meant his was on his left side to not aggravate the right shoulder that was aching and healing. But he hardly noticed that pain compared to the pain that tugged in his diaphragm and through his lungs and heart. The ache of loneliness never healed. He could not help curling in on himself. His chest tightened and he fought to keep his breathing even and quiet. He turned his face into the pillow to smother any uncontrolled noise he might make.

He wondered over and over why he had not dies. _If there is a God, he must hate me so much for all this._ Altaïr wished he had died. Wished there was nothing. Nothingness would feel better than this empty loneliness.

He heard rustling behind him from Malik. Then felt whoosh of air as something big fwumped onto the floor behind Altaïr, followed by a few others. Malik moved about the room for a while, dimming oil lamps or putting them out and lighting some incense that he carried into this room. He heard Malik remind Naheem again to get to sleep and not be up drawing all night and reminding him to put the rose in water. Altaïr's finger dug further into the pillow he clutched to keep himself quiet. He felt unstable like he was walking along unsteady scaffolding. He felt like he was the unsteady scaffolding about to crumble and fall apart. This feeling came more often these days than it ever had before. _I am nothing. I am alone. I am ruined. Everything keeps being taken from me. I need to be stone…_ Then the memory of that baby in Nina's arms would surface and he would fold in more tightly.

Malik settled himself on the many pillows he set beside Altaïr's spare bed and opened up a book of Sufi poetry to read quietly aloud to Altaïr. The harshness so common in Malik's voice softened and rolled like warm honey as he read. Malik read for about an hour before putting the book down. "Altaïr…" Malik sighed and rested a hand on Altaïr's tense and shaking shoulder.

Altaïr rolled over, ignoring the ache that held no comparison to the ache in his chest. He wrapped an arm around Malik's waist and buried his face into Malik's chest. Malik sighed heavily again. "You are not going to let me up to change into sleep clothes, are you?" In response Altaïr only held a little tighter. "Fine…" Malik held Altaïr trying to soothe him.

At some point sleep finally stole them both.

…. At least until there is a bang on the Bureau's door at near dawn.

* * *

A/N #2 – DK-REN had perfect art that inspired this chapter:

http:/ dk-ren .deviantart .com /art/yaoi-Malik-pillow-178633472


	158. Chapter 158: Crossing Malik is Bad

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – My shoulder is healing.

* * *

At some point sleep finally stole them both.

…. At least until there is a bang on the Bureau's door at near dawn.

Everyone jumped. "Shhhh…" murmured Malik to Altaïr. Malik listened carefully, calculating what he might need to grab and run with and the route he would take, along with the blade closest to him to defend with.

"Just some dying guy…" Altaïr murmured back. Malik hated how sometimes Altaïr would freak him out with unnatural senses. It made Malik want to hit Altaïr.

Naheem leaned in through the curtain with a surprised look upon his face at the snuggled position of Malik and Altaïr. Malik scowled at him. "Open the door… carefully. You are a map making apprentice watching the shop at night." Naheem nodded and disappeared.

Malik sighed with a huff and shoved Altaïr over. "Don't go anywhere. I don't want anyone spotting you." Golden eyes glared angrily back at him as if to counter that no one would. Malik pointed at Altaïr and commanded, "Stay."

Altaïr growled under his breath that he was not a pet lap dog. He might have growled it louder, except Malik would have retorted how Altaïr was curled in his lap most of the night. Altaïr took the time then to double check his armour and strap on his weapons. He tugged up hood up and over his eyes harshly and growled again at the ache the motion caused his shoulder.

Naheem rushed back in, "He's one of ours! Master Malik!" Both Malik and Altaïr rolled their eyes and snapped in a hushed tone for Naheem to stop yelling.

Malik hurried out to see. Indeed it was one of his informants, gasping and clinging barely to life that was fading too fast for Malik to even hope to save. "Malik… I tried… Hunter… too close to her… I tried to stop him…. I gave her time to hide… I was in the way… I am not a traitor… I am not…"

"No my Brother. You are not. You did well. Rest now in safety and peace." Malik hated this. Someone died on his order. He prided himself on saving the lives of the Brotherhood in Jerusalem. But then, a Brother did not take out another Brother. This Hunter crossed the line. First, setting Altaïr up to be killed by Templars and now this. _Whose side is he on?_ The informant, ill-equipped to defend against any serious or trained fight never stood a chance. He died in his next breath in Malik's arms. Malik spoke a soft prayer of release and respect for the soul.

Dark brows furrowed over dark charcoal eyes. "Naheem. Run for the Guard. Yell that someone was murdered at your shop." Malik set the corpse down. "This is just a shell, a body like any other and one we do not know. Understand?"

The notion seemed preposterous at first to Naheem but he did understand the logic. They had to seem like any other citizen. So in his sleeping pants he ran yelling for the guard that there was a murder.

Malik stepped inside stripping off his bloodied clothing and shoving it to the bottom of the laundry basket. As he donned clean clothing he ordered Altaïr, "You have but minutes now. Get gone. Be back here at noon if you think you can get past the guards. Try not to be later. Go! Now!"

There was pride at watching something as graceful as a great eagle take to wing. And there was a wince of pity at the faltering flight due to the injury. Malik winced watching Altaïr leave. The assassin made adjustments to his flight and disappeared from sight. No one would have seen him through the panicked escape of several pigeons. Then Malik slid a sheathed short knife into the front of his wait armour and a small throwing knife. _Let the hunter become the hunted._

Naheem returned just as Malik was stepping out. "The guard are coming."

"Good. Let them take this away. You have no idea why he came here. You heard a noise and found him dead." Malik whispered an apology to the soul. Then he shoves a small paper into Naheem's hand. "Get yourself to you drafting lesson and back here immediately after. You are running the Bureau till I return."

Naheem shivered at the look in Malik's eyes. "Why are you armed, Master?"

"I am still an assassin," was all his whispered before walking off and turning down an alley.

The guards soon showed up. It horrified Naheem to watch them drag the dead informant's body away by the feet. One guard patted the youth's shoulder, "I know you did not know him. It can still be shocking. We'll set his body in the main market and hope the family claims it."

Naheem looked down at the smear of blood on the door, the bench, the tiled stones of the courtyard, the rung of the nearby ladder. Shook the vision from his head of them dragging away someone he could name but didn't. It felt sacrilegious. It made him wonder about his own mentor and father that they just left behind without burning or burying. The air seemed stuffy even outside. His body went hot then cold then hot again. He stepped in to drink some water from the fountain before filling a basin. The morning air was still chilly as he scrubbed every speck of blood he could find. He even climbed the ladder in case the informant was on the roof. The clean streaks he made annoyed him and so he cleaned everything. It was silly because it would only get dirty and dusty before the end of the day; it just made him feel better for having washed away the evidence of the terrible thing that woke him. He mumbled through morning prayers and offered what he could for the soul of the informant. Then grabbed his cane, sketchbook, some supplies, bread and fruit, dressed swiftly and ran to his morning destination.

Malik strode purposefully through the streets as the sun rose. He knew from his informants exactly where Nina was likely to be. She should be hedged in without access to Templars. He needed only get there before the hunter did. He casually asked about a woman and child concerned for her safety and was directed by a woman setting her washing to dry in the sun. The alley turned into a less used area. Some homeless usually lingered, but they seemed to be vacating in a hurry. Malik picked up his pace till he heard the baby cry aloud. Nina yelled something unclear at someone. The yell was cut short.

Malik stepped into view hand upon his short knife in case he was about to face a Templar. The hunter released the woman's lifeless form to drop into a bleeding heap at his feet. He eyed Malik, "Your informants told you I found her I assume. I though you normally wait till we come to the Bureau and present you with our feather." He knelt and soaked his feather in Nina's blood. "Safety and peace Brother. You can put away your knife. I am no Templar. She never made it far enough to reach one."

Malik sheathed the knife, "I assumed since I did not give you the feather that you might just leave without informing me of the completion of your task in my city. Well done. I did my best to hem her in to this locale for you as soon as I knew her whereabouts." Malik approached. "Good kill. I wanted to witness it myself, if you do not mind my living a bit vicariously."

The hunter grinned and laughed. "I see! Then now you witness the way a kill should be handled, swift, clean, with no witnesses. The smile vanished.

"Let me check the child before you take it on your way." Malik approached the basket and wailing babe. The hunter waved a hand indifferently to let him while the hunter cleaned his blade. Malik then backed away from the child after quieting it. "He is the right babe." Looking back at the hunter he asked, "Will you not show respect to the dead?" He referred to Nina's body.

The hunter scoffed. "I have chased her through eight cities and across hills and desert. The bitch deserves nothing but what she got."

"I agree that she deserved what she got. She was long overdue. But we should always show respect to the dead."

The hunter knelt to plan how he would carry the baby. "Malik, it is not like they will haunt us. Don't tell me you still believe that fluff they told us as children. You really have gone soft."

The hunter did not expect Malik rushing him and pinning him deftly to the wall. Something bit into his gut and cut tidily into his diaphragm. "There is nothing soft about me when faced with a traitor who will kill another brother without listening to reason. There is nothing soft about me when dealing with a brother who has laid traps for other brothers to be killed by Templars." The hunter gripped Malik's shoulders with a gasping shocked look each sentence was punctuated with a small and perfectly placed stab. "There is nothing soft about me when you cross me." He stepped back shoving the hunter off him and leaving the small thug's throwing knife behind. The hunter slid down the wall clutching it, bleeding out. Malik simply and coldly watched.

Before the very last breaths left the hunter, Malik knelt close to him. "And I always show respect to the dead. It is the right thing to do. Safety and peace, Brother. I release you from your duties and set you free. Go now to your God."

The baby started to cry loudly again. It quieted as a shadow passed overhead, distinct in its human form yet with clear wings. Malik stared at the shadow disbelieving. By the time he looked up there was nothing to see. He verified that no traces of blood showed too obviously upon his robes. He wrapped the bloodied feather and tucked it in his pocket. He had several notes to send to Master Al Mualim. His lies were already forming in his mind along with the sense of shame for lying to the master of the order. _Where re my loyalties?_ The answer lay in the basket watching him with slightly fearful uncertain yet far too wise looking eyes. _The future of our order, the safety of families, the adherence to our ideals. That is where my loyalties lie._

Malik stripped the hunter of the hidden wrist blade and anything else that was unique to the assassins and tucked them in the basket with the baby. Then he walked away with the basket and babe using all the instinctual skill he had to make his to the Bureau unseen.

* * *

A/N #2 – Never cross the Dai of Jerusalem!


	159. Chapter 159: Altair: Rough Morning

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Just thought I would repost this from my chapter 1 notes:

_The trials and tribulations of two friends who have grown together and been driven apart in duty and tragedy. Does time heal all wounds and reveal all truths? What secrets are sealed in silence and bound by trust? When you see the great eagle soaring, can you see how broken the wings of its soul are? Assassins endure in the shadows and fly the moment they are seen. The eagle mates for life and soars solo and lonely when its mate is lost till its body and soul dies._

_

* * *

_

Malik stripped the hunter of the hidden wrist blade and anything else that was unique to the assassins and tucked them in the basket with the baby. Then he walked away with the basket and babe using all the instinctual skill he had to make his way to the Bureau unseen.

The comfort of the night before had been ripped from Altaïr. Now he was on the run, while Malik made himself equally scarce, while the novice played the innocent citizen faced with a murder on the doorstep. His last thoughts were of wanting to be like stone, not feeling, empty inside. Empty inside felt horrible though. The stone attitude was somewhat easy, easier to drown in blood. Especially when a lower ranked assassin huddles in a nook hiding because a Templar saw and identified him. This same younger assassin begged for Altaïr's help. Altaïr was more than willing to spill Templar blood to distract himself from his own dark thoughts.

From rooftops, Altaïr tracked them. Four Templars roamed a district shaking each young man they came across, seeking their target. The hunters should not be hunted. _There is a better hunter in town… _he swooped down from the roof. His hidden blade glinted in the morning sun for a second before he landed on the Templar, its point deeply embedded in the back of the Templar's neck were the helm and back armour plate left a small vulnerable gap. Altaïr pulled the blade free and snapped it back into its sheath. It'll need cleaning later. He dashed under an overhanging balcony while people screamed and ran. He used the crowd and ran with them till he climbed a ladder and resumed his hunt.

The other three kills helped waste his morning away. He sat on a bench to rest and hide. A woman sat beside him with a basket full of baby. Altaïr froze thinking it was Nina. "Oh, I am going to buy some peaches from over there, can you please watch him. He is getting a bit heavy now. I will be right back." Altaïr thought this woman was insane for just trusting a stranger like that. It definitely was not Nina. The baby started to whimper and cry. Hesitantly, Altaïr reached his hand in, remembering having done so when he used to sneak into town in Masyaf, and rested his hand on the baby's chest. Then he rubbed gently causing a slight rocking motion that soothed the child. The woman came back and Altaïr snatched his hand away as if burned. He stood about to retreat. "Here," the woman bent down and lifted the child out. "You can hold him, sit down." She guided Altaïr to sit and showed him how to hold the baby.

"He is… so… small…"

She giggled softly at Altaïr's husky words. "I would expect so. He was born only a few weeks ago. I am taking him to be baptized on Sunday."

It was too much for Altaïr to continue; he stood and gave the baby back to the woman, swallowing repeatedly around the growing lump in his throat. Then he bolted. It was almost reckless as he knocked a few people out of his way aiming for a darkened alley. He pressed his hack against the wall sucking in huge gulps of air desperately trying to steady himself, squeezing his eyes shut tightly against the images in his mind of the son he didn't get to hold. His teeth clenched as damp streaks meandered down his cheeks. He pressed his palms to the wall too hoping it would help steady him. Stone, he needed to be stone.

Something silky soft wiped at one cheek. His eyes snapped open to meet Tibah's large brown eyes. Fearlessly she wiped his other cheek with the hem of her veil. "What makes an eagle fly through a market like that and hide and cry?" Altaïr could not answer her. "The angels say to believe… trust and believe…"

"Tibah!" Kadar finally found her. "You can't keep running off! How am I supposed to watch over you?"

When Tibah looked back from her brother's loud entrance into the darkened alley, Altaïr had already vanished out of sight.

"What are you doing here?" Kadar demanded.

"I found a wounded eagle. I was trying to help it, but you scared it and he flew away." She crossed her arms accusingly as she turned to face her brother.

"An EAGLE! Tibah! You cannot go saving every wild thing in existence. They are wild! And an EAGLE! They'll take out your eyes… or take off a finger! Haven't you seen dad's finger?" She exasperated him sometimes. "Save your healing for God's creatures."

"Oh really?" she marched past him. "And isn't every wild thing God's creatures?"

Kadar ground his teeth and quoted a section of one of the holy books about creation and how every creature was god's creature.

Tibah smiled having won this interchange with her brother.

Altaïr made a mental note to either avoid Tibah like the plague or the market of the rich district entirely from now on. He inched over the edge of the building to look at the retreating forms of Tibah and her guard brother. He let his vision shift and gasped in surprise as both shone bright blue in his vision. He rolled onto his back on the roof letting the sun blind him a little. It hung right overhead, high in the sky. Noon.

_NOON!_

Altaïr cursed and headed back to the Bureau.

* * *

A/N #2 – What if Altaïr was first names something German, something his Birth parents would have named him and he doesn't really recall it per say? I just didn't want to lose this. Saqr (hawk) is high on my list too. Just thinking of baby names. Altaïr's baby is gonna need a name.

Altaïr : "Stephan."

Malik : "How about Sufyan? It sounds a little like Stephan but is Arabic, very old untranslatable Arabic."

Altaïr : "Sufyan…"


	160. Chapter 160: Malik's Gift

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – "Some things are true..."

* * *

_NOON!_

Altaïr cursed and headed back to the Bureau.

Naheem could hardly focus despite what should have been the most exciting thing in the world for him. The architects' guild was very welcoming and tested his drawing skills. They seemed impressed. He learned about the basics of line perspective and drawing along angles. It made drawing buildings and other still things much easier. However, he did not learn as quickly as he felt he could have. His thoughts kept running back to other thoughts. Malik planning to kill someone. _Was he going to take on the hunter? Can he even do that? Does he have a plan?_ It seemed so impulsive, so unlike Malik.

On his snack break he swiftly sketched a rough draft of the scene he walked in on of Altaïr snuggled into Malik. He almost got caught with it and hid it in a crumpled mess at the bottom of his supply bag. Someone might think he was a sodomite and stone him to death. That brought up other distracting questions about himself. _Am I? Just because I might sometimes, but my true interests are in girls, does it make me one?_ He didn't understand the right and wrong of it or even if there was a right and a wrong.

He tried to run back but found the first short dash drew out a painful ache in his leg and forced him to slow and use the cane. It was more due to the climbing and crouching he had done scrubbing blood from the Bureau. The noon sun told him he was late. He muttered some of the new curses he had learned listening to Malik. It would take him almost an hour to get to the Bureau. He resigned himself to being late.

Altaïr had arrived first to an empty Bureau. Naheem was likely out at his lesson pretending to be nothing more than the map maker's nephew. Malik must still be in hiding. The guards were all gone, even the blood and any possible evidence that a murder happened here at all. Altaïr dropped into the Bureau only after making very sure it was safe. In the quiet and solitude, he had time to recompose from his earlier moments of exposure. He dug out his journal and dumped his dark thoughts and feelings into it. The language shifts fewer, mostly fluctuating from Latin to German to Arabic. Malik would be proud of the improvement. The script seemed almost neater, not that Altaïr remotely noticed.

Malik slowly made his way back, encountering Naheem as he did. Naheem's mouth dropped open. Malik slapped it shut and then shoved the heavier bits of armour and blades he carried into Naheem's supply bag and onto his person to conceal. He instructed Naheem to wait to a count of a hundred before approaching the Bureau and told him firmly to use stealth.

Once at the Bureau, Malik let himself in and set the basket down. He let out a long sigh for handling this kind of weight one-handed was quite encumbering. He lifted the baby from the basket to verify that he was unharmed.

"Malik?" breathed Altaïr in shock behind him.

Malik turned, with the baby cradled against his chest and held firm in his arm, supported by the stump of his other arm.

"Is that? Malik? How?"

"How about you take him from me for now and I will explain what I can." He watched the emotions shift and change across Altaïr's face before it really hit him that Altaïr had dropped his hood back to see this better.

Hesitant and disbelieving hands almost lifted the child from Malik's embrace. The blood of his last Templar kill staining a sleeve stopped Altaïr. Malik watched as Altaïr stepped back and practically ripped through his armour and robes to get them off like they were offensive. Half naked, he then took the child and held him close.

Naheem entered to the tender scene of a teary Altaïr hugging his son to him. All his earlier worries faded. He dropped his bag in the corner and dug out his sketch book. This he was not going to lose the opportunity to draw. He knew it would not be able to last.

Malik leaned against his counter watching Altaïr lost in this moment of holding and exploring his son. His mission had gone very smoothly. Swiftly executed, no witnesses (he really thought the hunter was considering doing him in before leaving due to his comment about no witnesses), and back to the bureau with no interferences. He had hoped to get there before Nina's death. He had many choice words for her. Then he would have watched as the hunter took her out anyways and carried out the remainder of his plan as it went. He felt a little let down for that, however his time ran a little shorter than expected. In the end, he was still proud of his success. _I am still an assassin._

Naheem skirted the perimeter of the room, eyes flitting from page to Altaïr and back to the page, till he bumped into the counter. He leaned the back of his hips against the counter beside Malik. "How, Master Malik?" he whispered over.

Malik glanced at the rough line sketch with a slight smile. "Planning, lots of planning. Put that away now. We need to lock everything up and you need to clean those." He pointed to the abandoned robes and armour and bloody weapons on the floor.

"But Master," Naheem whined. "Master Maalliiiiik." He gave Malik the very best puppy eyes he could muster.

Malik was not so easily swayed. He ignored them like a true master and changed the flags outside. He locked the door and the lattice roof. Naheem gathered the soiled robes and bloodied weaponry to add to the others he had in his supply bag. Malik put his arm over Naheem's shoulder to guide him into the back, "Why don't we give Altaïr some privacy with his son? It has been long overdue. You can rework your picture in back and I will explain what I did."

A last glance over Malik's shoulder and he saw Altaïr nuzzling the soft skin of the child who made burbling noises back at him. Malik could honestly say that he has never been more pleased than this moment, being witness to this scene. The curtain fell behind him, leaving Altaïr alone in the main room with his small son.

* * *

A/N #2 – What did Naheem draw? This!

http:/ guiltyone .deviantart .com /art/I-am-home-170705601


	161. Chapter 161: Altair and His Son

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Tissue warning! Best have the box of Kleenex on hand. I needed a box just to write this!

* * *

When Altaïr heard the door open, he hid the journal and waited behind the curtain with his blade ready. A peek through the crack revealed it was only Malik. So, Altaïr stepped out to prove he had been there on time. Nothing in the world could have prepared him for what he saw. Malik turned around with the baby, Altaïr's son in his arms.

"Malik?" breathed Altaïr unable to find his voice. "Is that? Malik? How?"

"How about you take him from me for now and I will explain what I can," offered Malik as Altaïr dropped his hood about his shoulders to better see the child.

_Is that really him? Malik how did you find him? How did you get him? My… son… Can I? Can I really hold him?_

He took cautious steps closer afraid even Malik would take the boy away before he could touch his son, hold him. But Malik offered. He reached out. There was still blood on his sleeves and on the slight glint of the hidden wrist blade. Not wanting to soil the child or accidentally harm him, Altaïr scrambled out of his armour and weapons. He nearly ripped off his hood, robes and shirt in swift desperation to be somewhat clean to hold the baby. His filthy articles scattered about the main room of the Bureau, forgotten.

He lifted the child from Malik's arm and hugged him gently. He was larger than the tiny thing he held this morning. The baby hugged back. Altaïr swallowed several times. Soft baby skin clung with small soft baby hands to his hard muscled chest and shoulder. Altaïr blinked at the wetness forming in his eyes, trying to clear his vision. He didn't notice Naheem enter.

Altaïr shifted his hold to cradle the child in one arm while his other hand traced over the baby's face and light blond-brown fuzzy head. The hair felt softer than down and stood straight up. The eyes were that blue-grey all babies seemed to have but had started to darken to a brown with hues of gold. Altaïr wanted to memorize this small face.

The baby's hands grabbed at his with more coordination that Altaïr would have expected. One hand grabbed hold of his thumb and the other his pinkie finger. He found himself silently counting the fingers. _My son… mine… with all his fingers. I should count his toes too._ He regretfully tugged his hand away from the grasping hands and touched and measured each foot. _They are all so small._ There were ten toes as he expected. In hindsight he might consider himself silly for having done this, but that thought was not now. _Did she hurt you?_ He panicked a second or three till he found no marks or bruises. The ribs did not protrude either, so he was well fed.

Altaïr's world vanished around him to just this. It was like standing in the fog with a dying soul. The sounds faded to nothing but the burbles of the baby. The vision blurred at the edges so the Bureau seemed to cease to exist. There was even the slight haze of the fog as one soul explored another.

The baby explored Altaïr as much as Altaïr explored the baby. The eyes looked over this new person fearlessly, curiously. The baby's eyes tracked Altaïr's easily. Altaïr felt like he was being touched on the inside. For this one moment there was a different kind of bliss.

Altaïr shifted the baby and held him again up against his chest. He rubbed his stubbly chin on the fluffy hair. He nuzzled the baby's ear and cheek with his nose. He inhaled the strange sweet scent that seemed unique to all babies. The baby patted at Altaïr's face and shoulder. He kissed the baby's head.

_Faith, she said to have faith. Is this what she meant? She could not have known this. Is Tibah gifted? I heard her say something of angels… what if they are true? What if… some things are true?_

Altaïr wanted badly to speak, to say something. He wanted to say thank you to Malik. He looked up with so much gratefulness in his eyes, he hoped Malik understood, but the curtain fell to leave him alone with his son. He was grateful for that as well. He figured Nina was likely dead. There was no other way Malik would be able to bring the child here otherwise.

He paces about the main room absorbing the feel of the small warmth squirming in his arms. Altaïr could barely hear Malik murmuring to Naheem about how he worked out his plan and the time it took to carefully enact it. He wish he had known that before he pounded his fists into Malik. The rest of the words were lost in his enjoyment of the babe in his arms. He rubbed noses with the child and nuzzled the round belly as they both grinned broadly.

The baby then scowled and balled his fist. Altaïr wondered what he had done wrong. Then the baby laughed and giggled. The joke was totally lost of Altaïr for about a minute, maybe less. The rising odour made him cringe and hold his son out at arm's length, "Malik?" Malik was definitely taking too long and the baby cried. "MALIK!"

Malik came into view. "What? Is he hungry? Does he need changing?"

Altaïr peeked into the baby's nappies and cringed again. "Here… fix this…"

Malik tried to cough and clear his throat to cover the choked chortle. "Oh no. He is your son. You change him."

Naheem stepped out and rolled his eyes just as Malik might, "oh for the love of…" Naheem claimed the baby and changed him rather expertly. "I helped care for the children next door to my mom's. Six children between newborn and eight years old with another on the way. This really is not that hard. You do more dexterous and dangerous things than this… both of you." He handed the cleaned and no longer fussy baby back to Altaïr.

"I'll do it next time," promised Altaïr. The joy in the room faded almost instantly and Altaïr felt they were signaling that there wouldn't be a next time. He looked from one to the other and knew it in their faces. "I… I just got him… Malik…"

"I'm sorry Altaïr. You cannot keep him. I have a family who can nurse him and care for him. He will be safe there. No one will…"

"N-n-no Malik… Please…" he hugged his son to him, "Malik please…" begged Altaïr, but he knew the answer even as his tears streaked silently down his cheeks to dampen the baby's hair.

Naheem explained, "He needs a wet nurse, Master Altaïr. None of us can provide the nourishment he needs right now. And with hunters specifically after him to bring him back to Masyaf or to bring him to the Templars, he must be hidden somewhere safe where no one will follow or watch and give away his location." Naheem had to swallow hard the lump that rose now in his throat. He just felt he ought to say it since it will be Malik taking the baby away; it might be easier if they all shared the pain of this.

"You still have a little more time with him Altaïr. I have to make arrangements for him. Why don't you think of a name for him? Nina never told me the name and none of my informants overheard one for him." Malik hated himself for this, but there really was no other choice.

Altaïr rubbed his wet cheek over the baby's head, "Kadar…"

Malik smiled a little at the honor, "Let's not give him a name tied too closely to me. Not that I am not pleased with it."

"Stephan?" suggested Altaïr out of some whisper in his mind of familiarity.

"Stephan? Was that… your name? before you came to Masyaf?" Malik was afraid to ask. Encouraging Altaïr to remember things now was dangerous. Yet this seemed so right, except for the name standing out badly due to the family the baby was to be hidden with. Altaïr only shrugged in reply. "He will be with a Muslim family. He will need an Arabic name for now. How about Sufyan? It sounds close to Stephan. And when it is safer, when he is older, then he can learn the truth and take his true name of Stephan." It was the best Malik could offer. "He likes feathers…" Malik brought over an eagle feather.

Altaïr took the feather and retreated to the carpets and pillows with his son, to snuggle in the sun for as long as he had left with him. He heard Malik's shaky sigh but dared not look away from Sufyan/Stephan and miss something. He dragged the back of his hand across his eyes to clear them and kissed the baby's head again. In soft German, he whispered, "ich liebe sie" (I love you). Altaïr wished there was forever between the minutes, but they already felt like they slipped by too fast. He muttered small things to the baby, describing him aloud in Arabic or in German, his two most comfortable languages, trying to commit everything there was about his son to memory.

Malik pressed his sleeve to his eyes.

* * *

A/N #2 – Some of this is totally inspired by Heian… so you can blame him for the sillinesses. (what do you mean **I** have to change his nappies? He's your son)


	162. Chapter 162: Malik Delivers Sufyan

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Sorry about the tissue warning last chapter. You might still need some for this one.

* * *

In soft German, Altaïr whispered, "ich liebe du" (I love you). He wished there was forever between the minutes, but they already felt like they slipped by too fast. He muttered small things to the baby, describing him aloud in Arabic or in German, his two most comfortable languages, trying to commit everything there was about his son to memory.

Malik pressed his sleeve to his eyes. From the most wonderful to the most heart-wrenching all in the span of a few hours, Malik ached for having to do this to Altaïr. But it must be done. _Ich liebe du. He spoke those words to me once long long ago, only once._

Altaïr was about twelve almost thirteen years old. Malik was feeling a little like a pervert for some of the things he and the younger Altaïr did alone in the room. Although Altaïr was an early bloomer and already as tall as Malik. Emotionally, Malik was more mature at times. The bigger brother. The older best friend. Malik was fifteen and ready for a relationship. But none interested him. There was too much between he and Altaïr, no room for a girl. He wasn't really interested. His older brother Faruq never pushed. Kadar, however, even at ten and starting training flirted with… everything. Malik found it sometimes embarrassing. Altaïr loved the attention. That only served to teach Malik all about jealousy.

Until one night, Altaïr woke from a night terror and snuggled in smotheringly close to Malik. He soothed Altaïr's shuddering and panic. He must have dreamed of drowning by the way he clung so hard. Malik reminded him over and over that he was there and that it would be alright. That was the one and only time Altaïr had murmured the words. They were the first German words Malik had ever heard and it spurred him to delve into learning that new language. Faruq knew German and had provided the translation and assigned him a German tutor. Altaïr denied ever having said the words. Malik wondered who those words were reserved for.

Then out of the blue almost a year later, Altaïr disarmed Malik when they were running and hiding in Masyaf while training, "Those words… those German words I told you… I meant them." Malik stumbled off the roof into a pile of old hay and horse manure. Altaïr ran off grinning with the prized flag in his hand with Malik cursing his name.

The memories were bittersweet. Malik knew Altaïr had meant them. He saved them for moments like this. It made those words all the more meaningful. And, at the same time intensely frustrating, for Altaïr spoke so little that you wanted to strangle the thoughts and feelings out of him just to hear them. At the moment though, watching Altaïr with Sufyan, those emotions poured openly from the man and Malik had to again press his sleeve to his eyes before shooing Naheem to hidden blade repair duty while he prepared his lies.

_Master,  
Evil befell Raja and your wolf. The prey has been caught and killed but so have they.  
A feather marks her place in the log. I happened upon the scene this morn.  
The treasure, however, was lost. The basket was empty.  
I will inquire into the orphanages.  
Dai_

It was less candid with little code to hide the message, but Malik did not feel very ingratiated at the moment. He was quite sure the bird would get to its destination.

He then wrote another note, one he dreaded for it marked his failure openly.

_Assam,  
I regret to inform you that on mission, your son, Raja, fell. His wounds were beyond my care and he passed with honor before I could save him. I am sorry for your loss and ours. Nothing he has done has revealed anything. There is no need to flee.  
Safety and peace,  
Malik_

This note he would deliver by hand. Malik would speak directly, but that risked more than the note which could be burned after being read. It made him feel like the coward, but he sent Naheem on that errand. Malik dared not leave Altaïr unattended with the child. Altaïr was already less predictable than he had ever been. Instead he leaned over his counter and pretended to work on a map as he watched Altaïr cuddling the child among the pillows. They were quiet long enough for the pigeons to return.

Malik coaxed one over and attached his message to it. When he set it free, the sudden flapping startled the baby who in the next moment squealed piercingly loud with glee. All the pigeons took off beating Malik with their wings. Little Sufyan laughed and laughed and giggled. Even Altaïr chuckled quietly. Malik would have given his life to be able to repeat that and hear Altaïr laugh. _You used to joke around and play and laugh all the time when we were young. Now you almost never even smile._

The quiet with the baby ended too soon with fussing and drooling and crying. Altaïr panicked and so Malik came over to check. "He's getting a tooth. That sort of thing hurts them. I'll make a soother for him to chew on… Or, would you like me to bring over the supplies and you make it for him?" As he thought, Altaïr wanted to make it. Sufyan fussed and cried on a large pillow while Malik showed Altaïr how to sew and stuff a soft leather pad. Malik then used and ointment on his that would help ease the pain. It only soothed Sufyan for a short while till Naheem returned.

The baby still cried. "He must be hungry." It was Malik's only way to push the need that he had to leave with the baby.

"Mal… Let me take him there. Let me go with you," Altaïr was ready to beg again. Malik could see it in his golden eyes still red from the earlier emotions.

"No. Stephan." Malik was not sure if he referred to the child or Altaïr. The name held Altaïr attention. "No. I am sorry. "Your son need to be safe and that won't happen if you know where he is. I stand out less than you do. Please Altaïr, for your son's safety. I promise he will be safe and well and loved. I promise I will even keep you updated on how he is. But he must remain secret. Do you understand?"

With great reluctance that broke Malik's heart, Altaïr gave up his son. The babe was swaddled against getting sun burned and laid back in the basket despite his fussing. Naheem made some food to try to distract both himself and Altaïr from this. Altaïr wanted nothing to do with anyone.

Malik left the Bureau and Naheem locked up behind him. Altaïr climbed the roof to watch them go. Naheem hurried up there the best he could and sat with Altaïr. Malik swore Naheem was a godsend to stay with Altaïr like this. It meant someone would make sure Altaïr did not follow. Just as a precaution, Malik went to the gnostic temple. He was admitted without question this time, except about the child and a reminder that they do not accept those not old enough to make their own informed decision. It was like a religious joke, but Malik did not find it funny at the moment. They arranged for someone to fetch Tibah's father.

Froth there, Malik watched as the man inspected this new son to be. "His name is Sufyan. I ask only not to change that." Tibah's father was already in love. And as the babe was crying most insistently to be fed, he took him away immediately to do just that. Malik promised to come by in a few days to see how the triplets were doing. Stealth was an instinct it seemed that no assassin lost, no matter how long they have been away from the profession.

_Sufyan… Stephan will be in a good family. He will grow up in a normal life, like Naheem did. He will even inherit well and pass on to his children great wealth._

These were not things Altaïr could promise the child at the moment. Most importantly, there was someone who could nourish the child. _Not like he or I or Naheem were going to suddenly by some sorcery sprout milk laden teats._

When Malik returned to the Bureau, Altaïr was in a very deep melancholy. The day moved to evening with Altaïr becoming only more reserved or moody. Finally Altaïr just left.

"Will he find his son?" asked Naheem.

Malik shook his head. "No, Sufyan is well hidden with a family who lost sons repeatedly and desperately wanted one who could carry on their family name. They know who they have and they know all about being invisible."

"An informant?" Naheem rocked on the balls of his feet with some excitement.

Malik patted Naheem's cheek. "Nice try. But I keep this secret from you too just in case someone tries to torture it out of you. You have not yet been trained to endure torture."

* * *

A/N #2 – Malik's plan was very well thought out except for how to handle Altaïr in the aftermath.


	163. Chapter 163: Altair's Mistake

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – and where instability had laid just under the surface… that veil has been stripped now… the instability lay bare and sensitive.

* * *

Malik patted Naheem's cheek. "Nice try. But I keep this secret from you too just in case someone tries to torture it out of you. You have not yet been trained to endure torture."

Altaïr wandered almost aimlessly from shadowy alley to hidden nook. He hid in the ruined church of the poor district where he had trained Naheem a while ago. There he kicked things, he punched walls, he threw planks from the second floor, he discovered a glass window behind some boards… the hard way. He raged so hard even the homeless and drunks ran away crying demon in the abandoned church. No one would come close.

Once he was mostly exhausted and bruised and bloody by his own hands and the environment, he sought someplace high. Jerusalem offered the highest tower in all this part of the world. Altaïr swore he could almost see Masyaf from it, if you squinted hard. The wind tried several times to tear him from the side as he climbed it. He even considered letting go a few of those times. He had no idea why he didn't. He crouched out on the plank where an eagle's nest lay abandoned. He just stayed there till the sky turned crimson like a pool of blood. Then darkness swallowed the light. The streets below started to dot to life with oil lamps and candles.

His leap of faith was flawless. As he lay in the hay looking up through the bits at the stars he recalled when he thought he was dead. The terrible ache in his not fully healed shoulder, however, firmly reminded him he was very much alive. He rolled from the pile of hay. Any other man, assassin or not would still have died from impacting with the hay from the height Altaïr had jumped from.

He roamed the darkened streets of the Middle District. He spied every child he heard cry. He tried to work out where Malik would place his son. _Well off meant with a merchant family but not one so well off as to be the center of attention. _Malik had not given much else as clues. His frustration boiled over. Cooled, he walked away from the alley where blood pooled from several guards. There was no real grace in those kills, just rage. Now he was spent. He did not want to go back to the Bureau. He thought about sleeping on a roof or behind some crate. If he went back to the Bureau, maybe he could hear more clues.

He returned to the ruined church to calm down a little, try to focus. He felt, for lack of any other possible description, thin, like the old thinned and weathered veils that sometimes get forgotten on the roof gardens. He dug out a little two inch polished copper plate he sometimes used to peak around corners with. With one of his knives and decided to shave some of his scruffiness, hoping that maybe the grooming will help him feel better. He nicked himself and dropped the copper mirror. He watched the little drop of blood on the edge of his knife, his blood, that he drew. _I can't throw myself from a roof or tower, instinct always saves me… Or something saves me._ He rolled the knife in his fingers considering how little that nick hurt and how easy it was to draw his own blood. He pressed the blade to his left forearm, but only for a moment before he finished shaving the stubble from his face and shortening his hair.

It was so easy. And it didn't hurt near as badly as he expected. He didn't think he could do it, not to himself. This was just a test.

He dragged himself back to the Bureau feeling oddly distorted and disoriented. _I have a son…. I had a son…. I held him, I smelled him, he was mine… mine… H_e shook his head trying to clear the buzzing of torment. Altaïr climbed a ladder to the roof of the Bureau and watched Naheem sleeping through the lattice roof. He heard scratching on paper and knew Malik was still awake. "Altaïr, stop hovering and just come inside." Malik didn't sound nearly as caustic and Altaïr expected. Looking down, clearly his shadow gave him away.

He dropped silently down onto the stone floor, avoiding waking Naheem. He lurked in the doorway. Memories of the day halting his steps and blurring his vision. "Where is he, Malik?"

"Safe." Malik did not need details to know who Altaïr asked about.

"But, where?"

Malik came around the counter. The gate creaked causing Naheem to stir a little but not wake. Altaïr shied away from Malik. "You are hurt." Malik didn't intend to avoid the question, he merely pointed out the obvious bloodstains and bruises and possible injuries hidden beneath Altaïr's clothing.

Altaïr staggered into the main room swatting Malik's hand away. "Don't… don't touch me!" He stepped back for a little more distance, face shadowed, darkness of the room comforting his dark mood. "I said, where is my son?" He almost growled. His fists clenched.

"And I said he was safe."

Before Malik could dodge, Altaïr sprang upon him clutching his throat and let the right fist fly. Malik wriggled under him all too aware of the hidden blade that could snap out at any second and kill him. Altaïr felt Malik relax every muscle and a flicker in his mind wondered what was about to happen. Other flickers screamed at Altaïr to let go, that this was crazy, that Malik was not the enemy. As his fingers loosed a little, Malik moved. Feet locked over Altaïr's head and nearly flipped him over and off. Malik was on his feet ready now for the fight.

Naheem teetered on tired feet, startled awake by the noise of these two men screaming back and forth at one another. It started out about the baby and degenerated from there to things Naheem only vaguely knew about. The words back and forth were harsh, though Malik seemed to be keeping his somewhat guarded, his tone steady, his eyes watching Altaïr's every move.

At least it was only a fist fight. Altaïr needed to fight. He always needed to fight. There was so much tension inside clawing and beating its way to the surface but never really free to fly. The fists flew though. Altaïr wanted to see Malik down. Or did he want to see himself down? He was no longer sure. Maybe he wanted Malik to pin him so he could scream it out. At least then Malik would hold him and he would feel like he was falling to small pieces. His fists flew again. Malik blocked with the right, then the left. But there was no left to black with. Altaïr's fist connected to bloody Malik's nose again.

Malik staggered back almost falling on his ass. He dabbed the back of his hand to his bleeding nose. Charcoal eyes locked on Altaïr waiting for the right moment.

Altaïr felt like he was fire inside about to burn up. Every muscle ready to jump. Every movement that of danger, an enemy, about to take everything else away.

Naheem grabbed Altaïr's shoulder to prevent him from hitting Malik again.

Altaïr's hand shot back. It grabbed the tunic at the throat. It pulled. The wrist blade snapped out. Naheem gasped in surprise at the sudden bite. Malik's outcry was lost as Altaïr turned to see who attacked him. The world seemed to slow. Altaïr grabbed Naheem's arm afraid to let the teen fall, afraid to retract the blade.

_Oh dear god… no… NOOOO!_

Naheem clutched Altaïr's wrist. "I didn't yell… I was quiet…" He swallowed as he felt a warm thick liquid trickle down the inside of his sleeping tunic. His knees buckled.

Altaïr sank to the ground with Naheem. The fog had not come yet. He whispered that he was sorry but could not get his voice any louder as he held the teen's eyes. They seemed to understand. Altaïr didn't understand though.

"Retract now, Altaïr!" Malik slapped a folded towel over Naheem's throat. The blade snapped back on order. "Get him to my bed."

Naheem's eyes rolled back as Altaïr lifted him and carried into the back. Malik kicked over boxes and dug out medical supplies and stitching necessities. He dropped them down and ran for a basin of water. Altaïr held the compress in place.

Then Malik shoved him away from Naheem, "Get out of my way and let me work. We'll talk about this after."

Altaïr stumbled one slow step backwards at a time till he was through the curtain and creaking open the gate. He turned around the corner into the open roofed room and pressed his back cold with sweat against the wall. He sank to the floor unable to think or move, just listening to the sounds of Malik working on Naheem, fixing Naheem, fixing Altaïr's mistakes yet again.

* * *

A/N #2 – Thanks to the non members reading who reviewed.

A/N #3 – pictures just for you from… others who draw well and inspired these moment. Here are the links in order of happening:

http:/ domirine .deviantart .com /art/what-the-hell-man-171014120

http:/ doubleleaf .deviantart .com /art/why-158137255

http:/ scarletcougar .deviantart .com/art/Altair-and-the-wall-181333353


	164. Chapter 164: Malik Picks Up the Pieces

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – bridge building…

* * *

Altaïr sank to the floor unable to think or move, just listening to the sounds of Malik working on Naheem, fixing Naheem, fixing Altaïr's mistakes yet again.

Malik tried hard not to let the frantic feeling welling up inside overwhelm him. He wanted to really hurt Altaïr for this. He wanted to shake Naheem to death for foolishly getting involved. "Stupid novice!" He continued to grumble as he cleaned the wound. He sat back and stared at the wound again and considered giving Naheem a concussion for his trouble. He stitched the neck gash, bandaged it then firmly smacked the teen to bring him to.

Naheem seemed confused. Naheem was confused. His hand shot to his neck. "Do not touch it," ordered Malik. "You pull another Greek tragedy performance on me like that again and I will give you a real reason for laying in my bed." Naheem rubbed his cheek where Malik slapped him.

Malik grumbled about novices always bleeding in HIS Bureau. He pushed Naheem back down to rest then cleaned his medical supplies while griping about how this is supposed to be a place of safety and peace, "but oh no! I have to get my nose punched, twice… and have novices doing stupid things they both know better than to do…"

Naheem smiled and curled up knowing this was the side of Malik that was distressing because he was scared to lose someone he cared about. "Thank you, Master Malik."

Malik cleaned up his own nose now that he knew Naheem was fine. "Stay there and rest tonight. And don't… not ever… get involved in one of my fights. I can handle myself, especially with Altaïr." _Altaïr is terrible at wrestling. If I have to, I can hold him down. I have before. I expect I will have to again sometime. Hopefully not too soon._

Malik accepted the beating he took from Altaïr. He deserved it in a way and wondered over and over if he did the right thing by bringing the baby here at all. No, that was the right thing. Altaïr deserved some time with his son. He just wished he didn't have to take that baby away again. _Altaïr cannot afford to be a wreck. He has a mission, two in fact. Robert will be here in two months. Naheem needs training that I cannot give him. _

Malik fought down his frustrations and swallowed the many sarcastic and acidic things he wanted to say to Altaïr. Every time he let his tongue loose, something came out that opened the chasm between him and Altaïr more. He wanted to bridge that chasm. He took in a slow breath and gently pushed a book into place on his shelf instead of slamming it as he wanted to.

Altaïr was like an abused horse, twitchy and skittish and sometimes downright dangerous.

It was not what Malik saw though as he stood in the doorway looking down at Altaïr. Occasionally Altaïr would lift his hands from where they hung over his knees and watch them shake. His hood hid his features from Malik's angle. Malik had many things to say to Altaïr about what to do and not to do, but he could see Altaïr was saying them to himself already, whispering the Creed over and over.

"Stay your blade… stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent…."

Malik crouched down in front of Altaïr. "And your fists." He could not help at least one small snip. He winced the second it left his lips. Altaïr silences and swallowed hard enough for Malik to hear it in the dark of night. He hated Altaïr's silences. It seemed to be all he got these days. He laid his hand over one of Altaïr's.

"I just… wanted to know…"

Malik lifted his hand from Altaïr's and reached in, cupping Altaïr's chin. "Look at me, Altaïr." He lifted that chin till he could see Altaïr's face, till those golden eyes met his. They seemed so hollow. He sat there as close as he could, facing Altaïr. "Your son is safe, with a wealthy family. They have wanted a son for over ten years now and lost children trying. Your son is a godsend for them and they will love him as though he were their own. They know of the brotherhood, of us, of you. They know he is your son. They know Templars may seek him out. They know how to hide in plain sight very very well. Your son is safe, Altaïr. I swear it on my life."

Malik released Altaïr's chin and laid his hand again over one of Altaïr's. The golden eyes did not drop, but remained regarding Malik. "I have ways of knowing how he is and promise to keep you informed. And I can get things to him if you want to send anything. But you must not compromise his secret hiding place or risk anyone figuring it out by your seeking or questioning. I and the parents are the only ones who know anything about this, for everyone's safety."

Altaïr touched at the bruising starting to form on Malik's upper lip and nose. Malik did not flinch. "I know how to take a hit. I'll bruise, but nothing is broken. Not like we haven't broken each other's noses in the past anyways."

Altaïr looked away, dropping his hand from Malik's face. Malik lifted Altaïr's chin again. "Naheem is fine. It was just a scratch, needed only a couple small stitches." He wanted to get closer to Altaïr to reassure him, even to hold him, but Altaïr's knees remains in the way. "Do you want to sit with him?"

Altaïr nodded, then shook his head. "No… I can't…" he shimmied up the wall till he stood, still shaking his head.

"Yes, Altaïr. You can. And you should." Malik knew that if Altaïr did not face Naheem now, he would never face the young man and this would add to the soul wounds that don't heal.

Altaïr relented and walked haltingly to the curtain where he froze seeing Naheem on Malik's bed, neck bandaged with dots of blood on the bandaging.

Malik gently pushed Altaïr through. Then he placed his hand on Altaïr's hood and tugged it back to hang loose. "Armour and weapons off."

Altaïr removed each piece and set them down silently in the corner. Naheem stirred a little but continued to sleep. Altaïr removed his hood and filthy robes.

Malik watched with a small frown that caused his bruised nose to ache. There were new wounds on the assassin's body. The knuckles cut and bloody which explained why Malik had sported more blood than his bleeding nose really offered. Malik retrieved clean clothes for Altaïr and his medical kit for clearly he was not done healing people. Three small clean cuts on Altaïr's left forearm made no sense to him as he salved and bandaged them. "What happened here?"

"Tried to clean myself up… and… and…" Altaïr shrugged seeking a good lie, "Took some anger out on some wood."

"Wood did not cause this," Malik commented sceptically.

"The glass behind the wood caught me."

Malik accepted the lie, but knew it was that. He wondered what Altaïr was hiding this time. He only lied when he came back hurt from some lesson or punishment from Al Mualim. He wondered if Altaïr found a way to punish himself.

Naheem rolled over and watched them. Altaïr could hardly meet Naheem's eyes. "I'm ok, Master Altaïr. We both did something stupid, foolish. I won't do that again."

"Neither will I," said Altaïr firmly as he finally faced Naheem.

Malik let them talk a little bit while he put things away for a second time. He hoped the drama of the day was over. He prayed it did not spill into the morrow. Junayd will arrive at dawn for training and he did not want to have to explain more than he must already, nor did he want to have to try to keep both Naheem and Junayd out of the mess between he and Altaïr.

Altaïr lay curled on the spare bed asleep by the time Malik was ready to drop for the night. He looked from one filled bed to the next. _I have gotten soft. I want a bed and not the cushions or carpets._ With a sigh he collected a few and set them up as he had before, beside Altaïr. Not so long after he was settled down and almost asleep himself, he felt Altaïr roll to face him and shift closer till his face buried in between Malik's shoulder blades.

_I am sorry I could not fix things the way we had once dreamed about. I did the best I could, my friend. I did the best I could. _


	165. Chapter 165: Altair: Not a Stray Cat

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Thanks all for sticking with me so far!

* * *

Not so long after Malik was settled down and almost asleep himself, he felt Altaïr roll to face him and shift closer till his face buried in between Malik's shoulder blades. Here it was warm. Here it was safe. Here things just barely made sense.

Naheem woke when he shifted and the pillow rubbed his fresh reminder of stupidity. He adjusted his pillow and opened his eyes. The oil lamp burned very low, but he could still make out the sleeping forms across the room. He recalled the other morning where he walked in on Altaïr curled asleep practically in Malik's lap. He hardly managed a rough sketch of that. And here was another opportunity. He licked his lips debating his success or failure of getting up for his sketchbook without waking Altaïr. He knew he could move about without waking Malik and had several sketches of the sleeping dai, but Altaïr slept VERY lightly.

Naheem sat up. It couldn't be more than an hour before dawn. Malik slept with his right hand tucked under his cheek. Altaïr had snuggled close behind him without yet molding his body to the dai. Naheem craned his neck to confirm that Altaïr did indeed look like he was smothering himself between Malik's shoulder blades. The sight was both of something terribly fragile and incredibly powerful at the same time. It spoke volumes of situations Naheem did not understand and of a history Naheem did not yet know.

Slowly, he stood. He employed everything he could of his training to sneak silently out and return with his sketchbook. His first scratched out marks seemed so load on the paper that he actually cringed. When neither assassin nor dai stirred, he abandoned his fear and let his hand fly over the page till he had the image as best as he could. Morning light started to filter into the room from a high window. He set down snuck out again and placed his sketchbook among his other private things then returned to pretend to sleep through the morning.

Altaïr dreamed, tensing sometimes. The familiar scent of Malik pulled him back to a calm world where things made sense once more. Or did they? A small crash resounded from the other room, followed by, "ooops," whispered with a cringe. Malik rose to the annoying sound to investigate. The cold of his vacated spot made Altaïr groan plaintively. He heard the more familiar sounds of Malik reprimanding a novice and so he hunkered back into his blanket blinking awake and watching Naheem sleep through it all.

Junayd recited the creed and other texts in various languages quietly. Malik corrected him now and then and helped him with pronunciation. They discussed the recent informant missions that Junayd helped with and the tactics and techniques of using that information to plan a mission.

Altaïr jumped alert as Naheem suddenly scrambled from bed, apparently not asleep. "Hey, wait wait wait! I want to be part of this talk!" Naheem declared as he dashed back to wrap the blanket around himself till he could get dressed.

Altaïr collapsed back into bed and listened to Naheem shamefully explain to Junayd about his foolish injury. That too became a lesson in social etiquette and safety when dealing with people in the Brotherhood. Altaïr huddled into his shoulders wondering exactly who that lesson was for and if Malik knew he was still awake listening. _Probably._ He pulled the blanket over his head.

A wooden bowl with breakfast tapped the floor in front of Altaïr. He tried very hard to ignore it while Malik brought breakfast out to the novices. His stomach growled audibly and painfully reminding him he had not eaten yesterday. He gave in to his bodily need for nourishment. The later quiet told Altaïr that Junayd headed home or to wherever he was off to. Altaïr didn't keep track of that novice. He was in someone else's care, an informant's or something of the sort. But he was being subtly trained as an assassin by Malik. Altaïr thought Junayd had the quality to be a good assassin one day. Naheem… would need serious work.

"Altaïr, get your lazy ass out of bed. I am not going to allow you to mope about the Bureau and sleep and eat my food like a stray cat." Malik's sharp voice rang in the back room.

With a growl, Altaïr rose from the bed. "Fine. I'm leaving." He gathered his armour and strapped it on along with his weapons.

"I didn't say for you to just leave."

Golden eyes burned. "What the hell, Malik. You want me to leave or stay? Make up your mind." He was tired and moody and the past few days ranked among Altaïr's worst. He clenched his fists. Altaïr had hoped this morning would continue to be smooth and comforting. _Guess not._

Malik took a few breaths before answering Altaïr's very validly frustrated question. "I didn't mean for you to just leave, but to get up. You have two whole months before Robert de Sable even arrives. I want you to take Naheem out and train him."

Altaïr's eyes dropped to the floor. How could he dare really face the teen, let alone train him after he nearly killed him?

Malik's tone softened, "Altaïr. This is like riding a horse. When you fall off, you must get right back on. You also promised to share this responsibility and train him. He needs you. I… I can't do it."

As Altaïr lifted his eyes, Naheem stood in the doorway with the curtain pushed aside. Their eyes met and both looked away from each other in shame.

Malik rolled his eyes and muttered about stupid novices under his breath. He snatched Naheem's notebook from the young man's hand and wacked him in the head. "Get packed, Novice Naheem. Three days training. Stop loitering." He turned in a smooth motion and wacked Altaïr, "and you will take him out to that ruined church you had him at before and bring him back hopefully in three days, more if it takes more, till he can do a leap from a building into hay without breaking anything and defend himself in a fist fight. Don't bring him back broken and don't yourself come back broken. Training. Ignore the Templars. There are lower ranked assassins here with that duty."

There was no room for argument. Altaïr could only accept his assigned duty from his local dai. He brushed pasted Naheem carefully. "I will meet you there. Find your own way, Novice Naheem. You have two hours." He filled his pouched with fresh supplies and canteens with fresh water. He even added extra salve, ointment and bandages. He rolled a blanket tightly and strapped it to his back.

Altaïr overheard Malik telling Naheem to leave the sketchbook, that he was assassin training not art training now. Altaïr frowned and countered gruffly, "If he can fit it into his pouch, he can take it." He pulled himself onto the roof and rolled his shoulder. Naheem would have to work fast. It took over an hour to get to the ruined church from here. His eyes scanned the roof tops and plotted his route. Then he was gone.

Naheem scrambled to pack what he needed, trying not to ask for help till he got really stuck and asked for a check from Malik. He forces some room into a pouch, opted to carry some coins wrapped in cloth instead of food. Then he grabbed a handful of paper and a knife and a leather awl. Swift cuts formed three inch by four inch pieces of paper. The awl punched a couple holes through the top and he tied them together with string and stuffed the little pad into a belt pouch with his leather wrapped charcoal art sticks. He grinned, dimpling second before the wind was knocked from him as Malik shoved a rolled blanket at him and a small map.

* * *

A/N #2 – Haibane: The first thing that came to mind from your review quote was Angel TV series- Wolfram & Hart discussion with Lindsey & his boss. If I am wrong… then please… enlighten me! I want the laugh.


	166. Chapter 166: Malik Snoops

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – This was going to be a series of shorts by request to know what is going on in the OCs' lives. However, it wrote itself a different way. Malik wanted a day.

* * *

Naheem grinned, dimpling second before the wind was knocked from him as Malik shoved a rolled blanket at him and a small map.

Once Naheem was gone, Malik stood still listening to the silence. _Yes, this is what I want._ Not that he wanted all the time. But the last few days were hellish. His face still hurt and was purple from the broken nose. He needed to quietly focus on updating the log book on Templar kills from assassins who already started to trickle in throughout the day. He cursed Altaïr for not telling him more the quiet murmurs in the night that he killed some Templars. _How many? In what locations?_ His notes in the lag stated embarrassingly that Altaïr killed Templars _somewhere_ in Jerusalem. He smacked the incense pot off the counter in annoyance.

By the end of the day, he was fidgety. The quiet drove him to distraction. It was like the first days in this Bureau alone. The quiet, the loneliness, he found himself ranting out loud or trying to talk out plans just to hear some sounds. He sipped some willow bark tea to ease the pain of his bruised face and carefully rubbed a cooling ointment over his nose, the same one Tibah made him for his arm stump for when it ached bad. Wincing as he dabbed the bridge of his nose cause more pain just from the wincing. He threw the polished metal mirror. Many books soon followed.

This time, there was no one but himself to clean up. Not that Naheem ever helped. Naheem avoided Malik with great dexterity when the book flew. Then he chose to be a grown up man at the next moment and refuse to clean up after Malik, _"Your fit, your mess, your responsibility. Besides, my mom used to say that by cleaning up after a fit helped organize the frustrations that caused it till they made more sense."_ Malik adored his novice and wanted to slap him at the same time. Heaving a sigh, Malik cleaned up.

He found Altaïr's journal in that as well as Naheem's art sketchbook. He sat down in the back with some coffee and debated which to look through first. Naheem had not really given him permission to go through his sketchbook, but as a novice, nothing was technically permitted to be kept secret from the mentor. Altaïr's journal held an open invitation. _Do I read the anxiety inducing one and finish with the beautiful art? Or do I start with the art because reading Altaïr will require deciphering his stress and confusion and pathologies?_

He chose to deal with the hard stuff first. Altaïr hopefully vented in there. The writing surprised Malik. It was neater, more coherent. Whole paragraphs were written and separated by space and punctuation, and in single languages through the paragraph. Some of the writing sadly showed no improvement. The Arabic was used more often than not and had neatened considerably, while other languages required careful reading to decipher the misspellings. At least the misspellings had a consistent pattern. There were some rough line sketches scribbled out, too. Maybe Altaïr was trying his hand at drawing since he was surrounded by artists? Malik stared at the scribbled over sketch thinking that it was remarkably good. Altaïr had good eyes for some of the more technical line work rather than anything organic. The image was of a right-handed hidden wrist blade. _Maybe he sees things mirror image? Maybe that is why he write poorly and has difficulty reading?_ That was not it; the note in the margin confirmed the right hand intention.

The raw emotions that poured over the pages after tore Malik pieces. He was glad no one was here to witness his tears. He had to put Altaïr's journal down several times. There were things in there that showed more pain and confusion than Malik had expected. But why shouldn't he have expected it? Nina stabbed Altaïr deeply with her cruel act. Malik hardly did better by taking the child away. He wondered if he did the right thing again. What worried him more were the darker, self-destructive, depressive lines. He squinted and read them again when he came across them. Hints of suicide attempts, he was sure of it. The wondering why Altaïr had not dies and if it would hurt less if he were. He recalled the lie about the glass cuts on his forearm and felt suddenly deeply relieved Naheem was with Altaïr now. _Something has to be done and soon. He is not stable enough to deal with Robert and live._ He realized, that might be exactly Altaïr's intention.

He shoved the journal aside and got up to write a note but there was one of his informants waiting in the main room. "Dai, I overheard the some people will be arriving tomorrow here for some… careful exchange? Something about gold leaves?"

Malik smiled at the informant. "Thank you for the warning. I need to make preparations for the exchange. I have a message to send, can you take it for me?"

Of course the informant could secretly deliver a note to Tibah's father. It was a request for a meeting to check on the triplets and to discuss once again Tibah's betrothal proposal.

With a lighter heart, he sat again to enjoy the sketches in Naheem book. It gave him pause to see the one that had been done this morning of Altaïr sleeping close behind Malik. Naheem had captured Altaïr's fears and anxieties and Malik's discomfort and concern and their mutual tenderness that was shared on a more subconscious level. Malik had never seen it from this perspective. It imprinted on his heart and soul. He hoped the training was going well.

* * *

A/N #2 – Some art had been brought to my attention. It blows me away to discover that my fanfic is inspiring fan art! *BLUSH* I love seeing your beautiful work! What a great surprise! If you do art for my fic, please let me know. I will fave it and add it to my AC fanfic collection on my DA account. My account name is the same for DA as it is here: _scarletcougar_. So here are the two pieces of great art!

From a much earlier chapter: http:/ 0viper0 .deviantart .com /art/Dai-and-Assassin-178970887

From chapter 161: http:/ the-hybrid92 .deviantart .com /art/My-Child-181687370


	167. Chapter 167: Naheem the Bumbling Hero

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Sorry for the delays… was swamped and was trying to squeeze in some research about fight training.

* * *

With a lighter heart, he sat again to enjoy the sketches in Naheem book. It gave him pause to see the one that had been done this morning of Altaïr sleeping close behind Malik. Naheem had captured Altaïr's fears and anxieties and Malik's discomfort and concern and their mutual tenderness that was shared on a more subconscious level. Malik had never seen it from this perspective. It imprinted on his heart and soul. He hoped the training was going well.

Naheem made it out the roof with much less grace than Altaïr. He ignored the bruises he earned feeling like a whining child for having even noticed them. _And all I did was climb out of the Bureau!_ He groaned to himself. Naheem adjusted the blanket strapped to his back as he bounced a little on the balls of his left then his right foot. He didn't have a whole lot of time to warm up. He Thought about his destination and considered his route. _The shorted distance between two points is a strain line._ It was what he learned from his drafting class.

He turned in the direction of the ruined church. _A straight line could give away where I am going to those who might try to follow._ Just as well. He could not jump the wide gap that was the street in front of the Bureau. He could climb down the ladder and meander through the crowd. _But many already know me from my errands and might see me and wonder why I was not using the cane._ Maybe he could climb down and dash across then climb the other building across the street.

He peaked over and swiftly backed up almost tripping on the lattice as he pressed his back against the wall of the upper level of the Bureau. _A Templar!_ That suddenly was no longer an option. He inched around the wall till he could see the wood planks to the other building at the back of the Bureau. _But that is in the total opposite direction._ He peaked back to see the Templar heading down another street. He thought through the possible routes he could take.

**DAMMIT!**

He realized he was wasting so much time planning and had not even stepped off the Bureau's roof yet! He braced himself and did his best to hurry across the blanks and hop from building to building till he managed to at least get into the Poor District. He was way off course though. Dodging roof guards grew harder and harder.

He crouched between two crates. Beyond him were roof guards on too many roofs. The roof garden was slightly too far away and he could not figure out how to time things so he could get past them. To go back and around would take him so long he would not reach the ruined church till hours past when he was told to. Sometimes he felt like he hated his masters, or that because of their bad week, he had to suffer for it. Then sometimes he thought maybe he was being tested. If Junayd could do this at age eleven, then Naheem should be able to do this at age sixteen. Indeed, today he had moved from being fifteen to being sixteen and no one would know or care. He felt selfish for wanting someone to considering how much bad emotions had recently filtered through the Bureau. How would they even know today was his birthday anyways? Not like he told them. It was his mother's little thing to celebrate his birthday. But she is gone now. Gone for almost a year now. His father showed up a couple days later and took him into training. Life hadn't stopped since. Then even he too was gone and he was whisked away by Altaïr.

_Maybe that is what it is like being in the brotherhood. There is no stopping. Always be diligent. Everything is a level of danger. There is no respite. Safety and peace are a fallacy, an illusion they offer each other. No wonder they live short lives! Sons of assassins become assassins. Or something within the brotherhood. Daughters get married off to assassins or informants to birth more assassins and informants. Or become part of someone's harem of pleasure. _

He felt trapped, and not just by the roof guards. He wondered what Malik might have wanted to be if he could be something other than what he was. He wondered what Altaïr might have wanted to be. He wondered what he himself would want to be if there was peace and no need for this fighting, skulking and killing. A shriek shook him back to reality. A peasant was being harassed. _We are the hand of god that deals out the dark justice when there is no one else to do so._ He craned to see where the roof guards were then a little further to see the scene just below. Two guards picking on a young girl.

He felt for his short blade, then for the five little throwing knives. _I am all she has. Do I be the coward and stay here hiding? Do I be the cold asshole and run? Or do I do the stupid thing and risk my life for someone I don't even know?_ He thought about what Malik or Altaïr might do. _Plan then execute. But what if there was no time?_ He heard her dress rip and knew there was no time. _Never hesitate, or you are dead._ He threw one little dagger very wide and far. It ricocheted off a wall. Two guards on the roofs heard it and changed their patterns to investigate. He then took a deep breath and let two more fly with the accuracy he had mastered under Malik's tutelage.

The harassers dropped clutching where the daggers pierced hit deep. The girl was too afraid to run. The men still lived. _Never leave them alive. If you strike them, then you kill them, or they will lead to your death._ He hated some lessons. He hurried down the nearby ladder. As he hit the ground, he tugged his grey hood low so the girl did not see his face. With his knife, he sloppily slit their throats and wiped the knife on their tunics before retrieving his throwing knives. _I… did it. I… killed them…_ The girl touched his arm and he jumped, knife in hand. She murmured a thank you and ran.

Naheem found himself running before his mind had even registered it. He turned a corner and vomited. He climbed a ladder and vomited again on the roof. Rolling into a roof garden, he hid and sipped water to clear the foul taste in his mouth. Guards walked right by his hiding place and he froze, terrified.

They spoke about the Templars in town, the changes of guard patrols to accommodate, wondered about if Robert de Sable had the courage actually show up with assassins in the city. Of course they knew there were assassins. There was an open sanction to kill them. It told them assassins were there to find dead bodies. Naheem's eyes widened. The sanction was blowing the cover, breaking the third code in the Creed. If they kept it up, then Altaïr would not be able to get to his target because they would all be ready and waiting for him. Naheem wondered if Master Malik knew? _He must. Malik knows everything. But Altaïr doesn't know. He's been preoccupied._

His kills would haunt him later, he was sure. Right now he needed to get past everyone and into that ruined church. Just as soon as he figured out where he was. He was now both late and lost. He muttered curses from three roofs over after the guards had left. Scanning the map and his surroundings, he finally managed to plot a route.

Every muscle ached. The way onto the ruined church roof required a jump. He had run up to the edge for that jump now five times and skidded to a halt. _I'll never make it._ He huffed and back up a sixth time to make another attempt. On the other roof, he saw Altaïr step out and cross his arms. Naheem didn't think he was permitted to chicken out this sixth time. He ran. He leapt, eyes scrunched tightly closed. He landed hard and over and slid on his chest, scraping elbows and chin.

"I thought I taught you how to roll." Altaïr walked back inside having had time to collect his thoughts and emotions and bury them in stone within himself.

Naheem made a fist and pounded the surface where he lay out of humiliation before peeling himself up and following his master in for further training.

* * *

A/N #2 – Naheem… the hero? He sure didn't feel very heroic.


	168. Chapter 168: Short Glimpses

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – So I was asked… what is going on in the lives of the OC's? Here is a series of shorts to let you know. Please excuse any religious mistakes I might make in my ignorance. Also, please excuse any canon errors I make as I have not played any of the AC games except the first one with Malik and Altaïr. Information sources were:

http:/ www .jewfaq .org

* * *

**JUNAYD & THE RABBI**

"Rabbi Aharon? Why do we not have priests like the Christians?" Junayd was careful to pretend to be Jewish and self-identify as one. He had been studying with the Imams in the Mosque and with a priest in a church. However, he studied Judaism with a rabbi in his home. His question came out of the blue while he was reciting some texts with difficulty that were in Hebrew.

The Rabbi smiled gently at the boy he already came to know as far too inquisitive for his own good. The Rabbi thought perhaps that the boy's grandfather may not have the boy's age right. He was smart as a whip and desperately needed to understand everything, sometimes all at once which would make the Rabbi laugh. He liked this little boy with the Arabic name. It was time to talk to him about his family heritage and the steps he might take as a young Jew. "Junayd? Was you mother Jewish?" He already knew the family to be Muslim and knew the boy was being raised to see all the religions of this city. He might grow up to be an adviser.

Junayd had to think, hard. He didn't know if his mythic father had married a Jewish woman or not. He wasn't sure if he should lie, pretend, or dig out the truth from his memory. He chose honesty. "Before G-d, I don't rightly know. What does that have to do with my question?"

The Rabbi chuckled, "Because it helps me understand what you know and why you might ask. If you were born Jewish, you would know the lineages of Aaron, Moses, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and the Tribe of Levi. You would carry a name that reflected your own lineage. And you would know that of course there are priests in Judaism. They are known as kohein or pluralized kohanim, descendants of Aaron, brother of Moses, and he was the first Kohein Gadol or high priest. Kohein tend the altar, offer sacrifices, and perform the rites within the Temple or Synagogue." He waited and watched as Junayd absorbed what he said and linked each name to the lessons they recently had.

Junayd would go home full of many more questions for his mentor, the old Dai that he now called Grandfather.

**TIBAH'S TALE**

How long had it been? Weeks? Days? Wasn't she supposed to be courted? Tibah searched the crowd of the market for the millionth time this week. Was he really injured? She had seen him on errands limping with his cane. It was very convincing. She knew he had been injured, but didn't really know how badly or if he had fully recovered. What she did know was that he could move about without the cane, too. That day she had invaded his training, he didn't use it. He seemed to limp still, but managed.

Malik had in a way set the teen up to fail. That annoyed her. She was very perceptive. Of course she would spot him in the market. His other trainer, the eagle as she knew him, was so furious. The young man looked so scared and so ashamed. She was just as devious to give him the task she did. He was a means to an end. She wanted to train in medicine so very badly.

She closed her eyes and remembered how she touched Naheem's hand, felt over the severed finger. Just like her father, just like the eagle. She was sure that if Malik had a left hand, she would find a severed finger there too. A dangerous secret order. That much she knew. Spies that risked their lives to try to save people. Her father had retired from it. Although, sometimes she wondered. He fought so hard to keep her away and yet would have married her happily to Malik. _Because my father thinks a cripple is safe and not in the middle of the dangers._

She watched a group of Templars walk by. They lived in the middle of danger. Jerusalem was the heart of holiness with sacred sites dedicated to three religions. And they all fought over them.

She scanned the crowd again before serving ointment to an elderly woman. No Naheem. No eagle. No Malik. Naheem had the cutest dimples and the softest brown eyes. He seemed so shy and clumsy. It was adorable. She smiled despite herself. The eagle however was hard, cold, dangerous. And yet, not any of those things. Hurting. That is what he was. She recalled him in the alley with tears wetting his cheeks, gulping air as he struggled to gain control of himself. He seemed so alone, so lonely. He had wounds she could not see and knew she could not heal. She hoped Malik would be able to. Lonely eagles died alone. _And the angel that guided me said this one was a hero._

She never spoke of seeing angels to anyone. The fact that she saw them at all reaffirmed to her that she was on the right path for her life. Which at the moment was going absolutely nowhere. She humphed as she sat down on a stool at her family stall, chin in hands, elbows leaning on the stall's counter space. The crowd milled around the wealthy market like a blur of people who had no direction or goal. Oh how she wanted to see those soft brown eyes and shy dimples again!

**KADAR & ABBY'S TALE**

Abby was healing slow, but well. He started moving around the estate more. He had meetings with Kadar and Tibah's father regularly now about accounting and finances. Working with the numbers felt at least familiar and was the only way he could repay their kindness.

He often wondered how he ought to dress. As a man or as a woman. Being a hermaphrodite, he felt like a freak all the time. The fact that the older siblings disapproved of him ad Kadar's lover kept him hiding and out of sight as much as he could when they visited. _Maybe if I dressed as a woman, it would be less bad to be Kadar's lover? Maybe if I do it enough, they might let me and him wed?_ Who was he kidding. He knew they knew he was more man than woman. It irked him that he didn't yet have the strength to stand up for himself.

Guilt ate at him knowing he was so much older than Kadar, by five years. They never showed their affections in front of anyone, not family and not servants. They shared connected rooms to dissuade servants from thinking they were together.

Kadar had been firmly commanded by his father that he was now not just responsibly for his little sister's guardianship, but also for the care and support of his lover. Kadar could not fathom his father's understanding, but dared not ire him in case it got retracted. Kadar tried not to rip out his hair when Tibah strained his patience. He served to protect her and the merchant stalls on either side of the apothecary stall in the market place. The other stalls paid him decently. Tibah made him wish that she'd get married off soon before he strangled her for stressing him. It didn't mean he did not love her. There were just too many sisters in his life.

Abby was bent over a desk on their shared common room, scribbling in the day's ledger for the estate's general accounts. It was comfortable to be dressed in simple tie pants and a ling shirt. He combed his short hair neatly, which was a waste when Kadar enters and made a mess of it with his fingers. He abandoned the ledger to help Kadar out of his armour. Kadar encouraged Abby back into the chair and rubbed his shoulders. One still ached a good deal but the bruises were fading and the stitched wounds nearly fully closed.

"Kadar?" Abby started to ask hesitantly. "Kadar? Would it be better if I were a woman?"

The massaging paused. Kadar thought about it. "Be whatever you want with me. But everyone here sees you kind of as a man. To switch in the middle would make them more … would just be…"

"Weirder," finished Abby. "Why do they accept me at all?"

There was no hesitation in Kadar's answer. To him it was fact. It was stable and sure. "Because I love you."

**MARIA'S MISSION**

The Crusade was supposed to be full of honor, glory, and redemption. Those who went on it were absolved of all shame and sin. Maria was unsure if everyone agreed with that notion. She stood among several other Templars awaiting the next round of sparring to hone her skills. She was lighter than most, faster, and many did not know she was a woman.

Robert de Sable, however, did know and did not care as long as she was suitable for the task. He stepped forward to spar with her. She, of all those among his men, showed the most promise. There was something completely exhilarating about fighting her. To him, it tasted like sex. He claimed her as his personal steward when he realized she was a woman. Now he… owned her… so to speak.

Maria disapproved of Robert's personal beliefs about humans and the strange form of religion that sounded like Christianity yet was not at the same time. It sounded a little cult-like. She respected him, though, for respecting her and accepting her. He was formidable and pushed her to be the very best she could be as a Templar warrior. She respected him enough to do anything he might ask of her, even die for him. God would know where she truly stood.

Maria truly was a fine piece of work. Robert could almost be aroused by her ferocity and determination. She was smart, she was fast, she could fight better than most of the other Templars. She was perfect. Shame his plans for her were so terminal. However, it was necessary. A woman did not belong among the Templar men. He trained her hard to move like he moved, to fight like he fought. She needed to be as much like his as possible, enough that with a helmet on, no one would know the difference. She was just what Robert needed right now to deal with a certain eagle.

Maria was almost ready. Another month of six weeks of training and she could go on that mission to Jerusalem.

* * *

A/N #2 – I was also asked about the AC1 storyline… muwahahahaha… So… enter Maria… And I GREATLY thank those who put this wiki together. It helps me lots, more than they could ever know.

http:/ /assassinscreed .wikia .com /wiki/Maria_Thorpe


	169. Chapter 169: Altair's Boot Camp

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Long chapter… Never said training would be easy…

* * *

Maria was almost ready. Another month of six weeks of training and she could go on that mission to Jerusalem.

Naheem made a fist and pounded the surface where he lay out of humiliation before peeling himself up and following his master in for further training.

With scraped elbows and chin stinging freshly, Naheem descended the precarious and unstable stairs to the more stable second floor of the ruined church where he and Altaïr had slept and trained before. Altaïr already had his blanket and supplies and likely stolen food set up in a defensible location. New roped had been strung across the beams above with knotted ropes hanging from them. Hay had been piled in many locations below on the ground floor. Naheem looked over the broken rail to where church pews would have been to debate if the hay would break his fall or break him.

Altaïr climbed up the spiralling iron stairs from the ground floor with two buckets of water that he dumped into a larger basin. His caution reminded Naheem of the lecture Malik gave him about Altaïr's phobia. He approached to help. Altaïr handed him the buckets and backed safely away from the huge barrel-like basin of fresh water. He watched Naheem fetch water several times while he removed his armour and remaining weapons. "No armour. No weapons. And wash the dirt from your scrapes." They were Altaïr's commands, but not snapped out as Naheem would have expected.

Naheem was amazed at how much setting up for training Altaïr had miraculously managed in the time it took Naheem to reach the ruined church. Those short commands were the first words Altaïr had spoken all afternoon to him as they finished setting up and cleaning up. Hauling water was heavy work. If he spilled any in the next rounds to fill the next large basin, Altaïr sent him back down the stairs to start again. His shoulders burned and his legs burned with the repeated efforts. He stumbled, but did not cry out. The buckets emptied over the iron stairs and splashed water on the ground floor below.

Altaïr took the buckets from him. "Go sit and rub your leg. Massage the strain out of it. When it starts to hurt, you make adjustments to how to do your task so you do not incur injury. Lighten your load and make more frequent trips, seek an easier route (pointing to the other stairs that were wider, less steel and not spiraling), or take a short break then continue." Naheem felt like an idiot. Altaïr's advice was complete common sense that Naheem had abandoned.

Altaïr offered him some fruit to eat and took over massaging the leg. He felt carefully for where the deep scar lay and massaged around it know that over it would be too painful till the other muscles eased. He knew this from his own pains in his right knee.

"Am I really going to be climbing all that?" asked Naheem disbelieving.

"Yes."

Malik would have explained the why and described techniques and debated safety and skill first. Altaïr, dreaded Naheem, would just tell him to do it.

"You will do that later. Master beam walking first, wall climbing, and stable fighting stances. Strengthen your endurance. Then we will climb those and fight and jump."

Now it sounded much more exciting!

Naheem finished filling the barrel with buckets of water, though he chose to use the more difficult stairs anyways to practice balance and explained as much when Altaïr gave him a disapproving frown. They spent the next several hour walking low beams, angled beams, climbing latticed walls and craggy bricks, and then crossing the high supporting beams. It was a good thing Naheem had no fear of heights or this would be impossible.

After another break, he was instructed to watch. Altaïr climbed a wall, crossed a ceiling beam, then walked along the less stable railing of the second floor to an angled beam and down that. He repeated the process over and over. Naheem watched very carefully. On the third circuit, he opened his little sketchbook and drew what he saw to better imprint it in his mind. He wondered if Altaïr would get bored repeating this circuit. "Master Altaïr? How is it that you are not breaking through the railing beam? I thought it was broken and unstable."

"Not all of it is ruined. When you put your foot down, never put your full weight if you are unsure of the footing. Test it, then step. Be ready to move back to sure footing or leap to sure ledges. Never jump to uncertain footing. That might be an early death or at least many broken bones. That will be an early death by Malik's hand."

Naheem was not sure if Altaïr was making a joke or not.

Altaïr kept Naheem drilling on this task for most of the night, correcting footing and balance. He then set the task of stable stances for fighting. Naheem had to hold horse stance for an hour. When he complained, Altaïr cuffed him and told him to stretch and start again. They ended the night by jogging the circumference of the interior of the ruined church till Naheem could barely take three steps without stumbling.

Altaïr envied Naheem's ability to sleep easily almost anywhere. He watched the teen for a while before making adjustments to the circuit for tomorrow. He checked every boarded up window and potential entry into the building, laying down traps to alert him of intruders. Lastly, he kicked the broken glass under the stacked pews, hiding the evidence of his earlier outbursts.

The next day fared just as hard with little breaks. It was all about endurance. Altaïr pushed Naheem to do better, to refine his actions, to be steady. He never over-pushed. When Naheem started to stumble they paused to breathe or eat. Today Altaïr worked on fist fighting late in the afternoon. Naheem did decently with instruction against a padded support beam. He was not great, but better than Altaïr expected for someone who may never have fought before in his life. It made Altaïr wonder if maybe Naheem actually knew some fighting or had been in a few himself.

So he turned Naheem from the padded post. "Hit me."

Naheem dropped his fists and blinked in confusion. "uh… master?"

Altaïr's fist shot out and struck Naheem in the shoulder. "I said hit me. You can't hurt me, so HIT ME!"

Naheem frowned and raised his fists to block the next blow Altaïr delivered for his delaying.

"I can't teach you if you don't spar. Now… HIT ME!"

Naheem took Altaïr's opening and hit him in the chest.

Altaïr didn't even stagger. He glanced down at the light little wrinkle the poor strike made in his shirt. He hit Naheem back. The teen sprawled across the floor and rolled to his feet. Altaïr nodded approval. They went back and forth like that. Naheem's half-hearted blows earning him bruises and more sprawling. Sometimes Altaïr would snap in low growls how the enemy won't go so easy on Naheem and that he had better get serious about this. To prove his point he hit Naheem in the scarred part of his thigh.

Naheem cried out and dropped. Altaïr hauled him to his feet. "That is what they will do to you over and over. Weight on the good leg. Bad one stays behind a little. Not hit back like you mean it." Now Altaïr got a fight out of Naheem. He knew it was in the teen. They bruised each other well that evening. Naheem never knew that Altaïr was pulling his punches.

By the end of the third day, Naheem was properly fist fighting like a decent novice. He had thought he would not get opportunities to actually draw, but he did. Altaïr may not talk much, but he taught through example, making Naheem sit and watch and draw before doing. When he made repeated mistakes that short instructions were not correcting, he sat and watched Altaïr mimic the mistake so he could see it. He had used up all the pages on both sides of his little notebook.

When he woke in the morning, there was a fresh blank book beside him. Altaïr sat against a wall watching him… and drawing in a book of his own. Naheem blinked totally baffled. "You draw?"

"We are all taught a little of everything so we can blend in when necessary. I might need to draw a map for someone else, or sketch a target so a team knows who to corner. Or… design a new weapon." He turned the book for Naheem to see. It was the hidden blade schematics matching well the hidden blade on the blanket beside Altaïr. "I don't have it right, but I will someday. Then I will design one for the right hand. Maybe one that won't cut you when you use it."

Naheem was very impressed. He was more impressed when he glimpsed the edge of a drawing of himself asleep. Altaïr was not great at people, but it was recognizable, even in its roughness. Altaïr lacked the true patience for this though.

Day three started now that Naheem was awake. Rope climbing. Falling. Tumbling. Often in that order and gracelessly. That God for the hay! Altaïr shook his head in frustration far more often then not. He changed tactic and started with tumbling on the ground and over low obstacles. They fought together around the obstacles and over them forcing Naheem to use the tumbling and the fist fighting together. In the evening, Altaïr trained him on how to take a blow. How to move with the attacks, how to dodge and anticipate.

Then he taught him how to fall. It started first from standing and falling on the floor, fake collapsing, fake being hit and hitting the ground. "Because your enemy may be too wound up to notice he hadn't actually connected and his friends sure won't know. You will be in control still and then…" He faked being hit, reeling from it, hitting the wall and ground, then turning and punching in the gut, "my hidden blade in their gut eviscerating them."

That night they tried the ropes again. Naheem was worse than earlier in the day. "I am tired and I hurt, all over!"

"And you whine like a girl. Take a bath and go to bed." It was disappointment.

Naheem was so mad. He just wasn't sure who he was really mad at. He tried so hard. The ropes hurt his hands too much. His hands were important to him. He needed them for drawing, his one passion. He rubbed salve into them after his bath. Altaïr was gone. _Why would he stay with such a failure? I don't want to quit. I don't want them to dismiss me. I like working with them. I like them. They… they are all the family I have._ He buried his face in his aching hands.

The hours went by with no Altaïr.

Altaïr ran the rooftops, venting his frustration on the roof archers and alley thugs. He dropped into the Bureau and raided the trunk for supplies. Malik stepped out. Altaïr froze as the lid dropped with an unexpected bang. They stared at each other a long while. The silence grew thick. When Malik broke the stare to glance at the item in Altaïr's hand, Altaïr explain in a bare whisper. "He's… he needs them. He didn't have any."

"Is he hurt?" It sounded so accusatory.

"No!" Altaïr could not get out of his head the thought that he nearly killed Naheem. It must be what Malik was thinking. It was exactly why Altaïr did not train with weapons. He was too afraid he would lose focus.

"Do you need any other supplies?"

Altaïr dropped his chin, his hood hiding his eyes. "No. He's doing well, though. Fist fighting, climbing walls, walking beams. I started him on falling and ropes." His hand twitched with the gloves in his fist. "He didn't have gloves." He tucked them into his belt pouch. When he looked up, Malik was in front of him. He handed Altaïr a wrapped package. Altaïr took it and slipped out.

He dropped the gloves in front of the moping Naheem. "We do ropes tomorrow. And falling into hay. If it goes well, we will do leaping beams and leaping into hay." He opened Malik's package. The warm aroma of meat stuffed buns rose to greet them.

Naheem grinned, dimpling, "Now THAT is love!" He promptly helped himself.

* * *

A/N #2 – Chapter wasn't long enough. Three days wasn't long enough. Naheem needs more training.


	170. Chapter 170: Malik's New Perspective

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – I have been sharing this with some people. I thought I ought to share it with everyone so I don't have to repeat myself a million times. I highly recommend reading the Night Angel Trilogy by Brent Weeks.

http:/ www .brentweeks .com /books/the-night-angel-trilogy/

* * *

The warm aroma of meat stuffed buns rose to greet them. Naheem grinned, dimpling, "Now THAT is love!" He promptly helped himself.

Malik knew that master assassin and novice would be hungry for good food. He had prepared a bundle each day in case Altaïr stopped by. Last night was most awkward. _He may never trust me after I took the baby away. I have earned that. Now, I suppose we are even, not that I wanted to do it for that reason._ He distractedly made notes about an old map about a part of the world he had never been to.

The day passed quietly. A third level assassin sat on the carpets cleaning his weapons and trying not to make too many facial expressions. The fresh stitches stung terribly. He would be leaving Jerusalem as the gash across his face marked him for who he was. Under the usual circumstances, Malik would keep him here to heal. But with Templars roaming about, it was too dangerous.

Already, Malik had a Templar in the Bureau snooping. Before the Templar left, he asked in French if Malik could draft a letter for him. Malik had pretended poor French heavily accented with Arabic as a reply. He drafted a letter for the man as he dictated. The coin left in payment was non-negotiable and Malik felt insulted. The sweat seeping into the back of his robes dried as the day wore on with no more Templars in the Bureau. That was too close.

Several exchanges had been made throughout the three days with the Gnostics. They came as scholars with books to repair in small crates. Malik accepted the books to repair, and stored the hay that was under the layer of books. They would return in a few days to pay for their repaired books and remove the small crates, which would have the vellum instead of hay under the top layer of books. By the end of the week or so, Malik would be insanely wealthy. None of this went into the logs.

He didn't part with all the vellum. In his back room, he kept a box of the precious stuff. He wished he could keep it all, but for what? Assassins had few possessions. The Bureau had to be able to be abandoned if necessary. Malik felt proud that this Bureau didn't need to get moved in all the time he was here. He was careful. A safehouse within the city and one outside it served for the purposes of emergency, should a move ever be necessary. They were manned by assassins under Malik's command.

Malik logged the departure of the injured assassin and sent him back to Masyaf with provisions. In his personal training log, he updated the information Altaïr had given him about Naheem's training. Oh how he wished to be there, watching, helping, doing. Malik missed the training. It stirred him to train hard himself in the privacy of the Bureau as best as he could. He even tried climbing up the fountain one-handed to get to the roof. Landing on his back for the fifth time on the pillows and carpets without ever making it to the roof left him sore, both physically and emotionally.

Junayd was a relief to see on the next morning. They started with actual knife work. How to move and use the short knife. Morning training like this included running discussion as they trained. He followed that with training in tumbling, falling and taking a hit. In this way, Malik could do as Altaïr was doing, at least in a few hours. Immersion would so much more satisfying, however. Malik debated the risks of sneaking to the ruined church to spy on them and decided the risk was too high. _Besides, Altaïr would only think I distrusted him in training Naheem._ At least Altaïr was not shying from facing the teen.

The days seemed to blur into a series of short, insignificant moments. _I miss them._ There! He admitted it. Malik consciously admitted he missed Altaïr and Naheem. The novice was likely improving, or so he hoped. V was being a good teacher, or so he hoped. And he, well Malik was stuck in the Bureau keeping track of the various informants and assassins and their targets.

The fourth day without his novice rolled around and another two new assassins came through to help deal with the Templars. Now Malik grew concerned. He was wondering who was actually ordering them out. He even sent a not to Al Mualim addressing his worry of flooding Jerusalem. He would have to wait for a reply. As it looked, with so many assassins, the Templar would be so very ready to for Altaïr that the mission was failing before it could begin.

The informant with the barely four year old daughter and now pregnant wife, dropped in with terrible news. He witnessed the deaths of three assassins at the hands of Templars. The Templars had started to learn to defend against the assassin moves. Malik was sure that he would hear of more deaths over the weeks. On his watch, Brothers were dying. This ruined his reputation. It ruined his record. It risked getting him retired to a more isolated task where he could be out of the way. He dared take matters in his own hands a little and sent word to Acre that he was sending some lower ranked assassin there for missions. He asked the old dai there to please keep them busy. _Because they are dying here. I am trying to keep them alive and this is the only way I know how to discreetly._

He made notations in his log book for completed missions and as some assassins trickled in, he reassigned them to Acre. _Am I the traitor? Have I stopped thinking about my brothers and am too tied to that feather-brain? No, no! I am saving their lives! I have to. Someone has to. _Malik needed Altaïr's mission over so he could get back to Masyaf and dig out that insane traitor. Al Mualim must be frantic and busy trying to do so as well, and thus these brothers are falling through the cracks. He often disagreed with Al Mualim's methods, especially with Altaïr, but he earn his place as Master of the Order for a reason and had a plan to keep peace.

_Maybe he is sending them here because I am here and know how to manage them better. He must be getting them out from underfoot and trusting me to give them assignments till he can sort out the traitor._ Malik felt like a fool for not realizing that sooner. He tore through the logs and maps and prepared missions. _I can decide who gets and does what!_ And that decision kept him VERY busy. The Dai was like the Master of the Order on a smaller scale. That realization gave Malik new understanding to his position and responsibilities, new perspective, and teased at a dream of his to be second in command of the Order. _Like that will ever happen in my lifetime, with me like… this!_ He grabbed at his missing arm then threw a book to hear it slam loudly against a wall.

* * *

A/N #2 – PS… I saw my missing cat! Twice! He is alive, unarmed, dirty… but still outside. He ran away from me, but I now have hope of getting him now that I know he is alive and only a block away.


	171. Chapter 171: Altair's Boot Camp Over

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Never said it would be easy…

* * *

Malik grabbed at his missing arm then threw a book to hear it slam loudly against a wall.

"AGAIN!" roared Altaïr.

Naheem glared at him then back at the two pews that were shoved together with hay on either side. A precarious plank of wood sat askew on the pressed together backs of the pews. He had fallen for the maybe eighteenth time. "YOU DO IT!" he yelled back finally too upset to earn another bruise for what he thought was impossible.

Altaïr realigned the plank, climbed the rope and dropped cautiously on one end of the wood. He adjusted for balance then walked in a slow crouch across the plank easily, pausing now and then to ensure balance again. It looked as easy as walking the stable planks and beams. "Go slower. Arms out for balance. Look at the DESTINATION not the plank of wood and NOT down or anywhere else for that matter." He hopped off the end and reset the plank as it spun off from his hop. "Do it again."

It took another ten or so tries before Naheem could do it with confidence.

Falling in hay proved a worse exercise. You would think the hay was soft. Every time Altaïr shoved Naheem off the box, Naheem flailed, tense, hit the hay and hated Altaïr just a little. He sat up again spitting hay and rubbing the new bruises. He had so much trouble relaxing and letting himself just drop. The free-fall threw panic through him even though it was only a few feet. Altaïr showed him again how to let go and trust the hay will be there. "But the hay is hard and hurts," Naheem complained.

"Yes, it is. And yes, it does. But it hurts less when you fall right. Fall into it not onto it." Altaïr showed him what he meant by holding both of Naheem's hands and telling him to lean off the box. This he trusted. Altaïr held him firm, his body made a slight V shape with his butt sticking back. "Good, now just let go and fall. I promise it won't hurt." There was a scramble and a desperate attempt to grab Altaïr's hands again. Naheem landed sideways with an OOF! Altaïr turned, throwing his hands in the air never realizing as Naheem did that the gesture was one of Malik's.

Naheem picked himself up and brushed off the hay. Altaïr was gone when he looked up again. Naheem yelled and kicked the box over. He was supposed to come back to Malik having learned to fist fight and jump into hay from a roof. Now his master left him out of frustration. Naheem was more frustrated with himself.

Altaïr watched from the highest beam in the ruined church to see what Naheem would do. He crouched silently as Naheem vented. Naheem was a smart young man. Altaïr knew that Naheem had all the tools and basic skills to do this.

Left to his own devises for more than an hour now, Naheem finally dragged over one of the mouldy mattresses and practiced tumbling onto it. He threw himself and rolled. He pounces and rolled. He eventually tried backward somersaults to see if he could. Finally he tried a bit hesitantly just falling back on it. He knocked the wind out of himself, but didn't get hurt. Feeling like he could do that again, he did.

Then he flopped in the hay. He dove into the hay. He rolled around in the hay laughing.

Altaïr shifted and stretched out on the beam above somewhat amused by Naheem's silliness. _Do whatever you need to do to trust the hay._

Naheem at last fell back on the hay. OOF! That earned him a few bruises. Altaïr buried his face in his hand and silenced his groan. Naheem tried again. Now he was determined, over and over till he managed the right position. "Yes!"

He fluffed the hay and pushed it back into a good sized pile. He stepped up onto the box, turned and looked over his shoulder. Like a mantra he repeated many times, "The hay is soft, the hay is soft…" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He stretched out his arms and fell back. Fwoomp! It was a soft landing that swallowed him into the hay. He leapt out and cheered loudly and jumped up and down. "I did it! I did it! Did you see that?" Not that Naheem expected a reply.

Altaïr dropped from the rafters. Naheem yelped in surprise and clamped his hands over his mouth to smother it halfway. "Yes, Naheem, I saw." The slow smile grew on the teen's face and warmed Altaïr.

Next came learning how to fall and how to dive from higher places, like off a stacked set of crates or the stairs. Then doing so off the second floor. By then Naheem was complaining about where the straw managed to reach him. "Dammit! I thought our uniforms keep the hay OUT of my precious parts!" the statement caught Altaïr off guard that he burst out in laughter, for he had complained of such things exactly when he was a novice. The laughter never stayed, though and the silence soon fell again. Naheem regarded the momentary break in Altaïr's stoicism as a victory on his part like asking questions that made Altaïr explain something at length.

They slept hard from exhaustion, or at least Naheem did. Altaïr carefully tore out all the pictures he had drawn of Naheem and the right hand hidden blade. He cut them carefully with one of his knives till they were in many small pieces. In the morning, he added them to the tiny morning fire for breakfast gruel.

Morning training and warming up lead at last to a leap of faith, a real Leap of Faith, off a building roof. The first attempt was not a total failure, but Naheem would be purple on the back of a shoulder. He had to climb the wall as he had learned and do it again. He did the leap so many times he no longer even thought about the process.

"Good, Naheem. Now we can go back to the Bureau for lunch."

Naheem thought he could eat a horse for lunch and wondered what horses might actually taste like. Malik greeted them with plates of spiced rice with shaved meat. Neither assassin nor novice could identify the dark meat, nor did they care. Oranges rounded out the late lunch. "Master Malik? You are amazing!" Naheem stated with a broad grin as he helped clean up.

_I am never amazing anymore._ Altaïr slipped out while Malik and Naheem were busy catching up and reporting on the training experience.

* * *

A/N #2 – Must share!

http:/ azarethiantitan .deviantart .com /art/Tibah-for-ScarletCougar-182620514


	172. Chapter 172: Malik Caught

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – And then there was this roller-coaster of emotions… Enjoy the ride!

* * *

"Master Malik? You are amazing!" Naheem stated with a broad grin as he helped clean up.

_I am never amazing anymore._ Altaïr slipped out while Malik and Naheem were busy catching up and reporting on the training experience.

Malik seemed greatly impressed with Naheem's report. The teen excitedly explained everything they did in the training. As Malik recorded this in the little private log of Naheem and Junayd's training, he watched Naheem demonstrate some of what he learned. He was about to ask Altaïr to report next anything that was missed, but the assassin was nowhere in the Bureau. Malik shook his fist at the roof opening.

"Why does he do that?" Naheem asked.

Malik sighed. "It's… complicated. Go soak in a hot bath so you don't stiffen. In the morning, I want you practicing the moves you learned." It was a diversion from having to explain Altaïr's growing sociopathic behavior. He started to wonder at what point Altaïr would actually break. Then he concludes that Altaïr had already broken. _He started out broken. And just as he began to stand his ground he was broken again. I didn't exactly help matters. Tomorrow, when I get back from Tibah's family home with the betrothal contract, I will have to deal with Altaïr_.

He now had a stronger hold on the ins and outs of assassins and missions in Jerusalem. He created some smaller missions better suited to those arriving than trying to suicidally take out Templars. Most he had diverted to Acre who could use the extra protective support. The Templars had pulled out of Acre for some reason, according to the dai there, and King Richard had docked. Many of Richard's men and the king himself had left Acre, a massive army collecting in other locations. Saladin, Salah ad-Din, and his Arabic army had also been gathering in various locations. If Malik could surmise the politics, Acre belonged to King Richard and Damascus belonged to Saladin. _Jerusalem is MINE._

But Malik knew better. Jerusalem had been disputed land for generations. Two previous Crusades sought to conquer it. Now this third stood a good chance of doing so. The coming funeral was a brilliant idea to force dialogue and shared respect for all. The new regent was genius. It served as a good potential plan to keep the peace. Even if an assassin ruins the occasion, they will be united against a common foe. Malik was not so comfortable with the notion of his brotherhood as the common enemy to King Richard and Saladin.

However, they were protecting something far worse than either army. This Treasure. This Piece of Eden. They protected it from the abusive use of either faction. Malik had already started to puzzle out what it could do based on Altaïr's journal and chaotic memories of conversations that made sense and not at the same time. _It is like the Apple of Temptation._

He shook his fist again at the opening and heard Naheem snicker at him in the background. "Get to work Novice!" Malik snapped in a more playful way.

Mockingly and equally playfully, Naheem bowed, "Yesh Mashter… rights aways mashter."

Malik rolled his eyes thinking that somehow Altaïr's teenage mischief got learned by Naheem on those five days away. "And since you are so well trained and so obedient, you can take your flower picture to Tibah in the market and come back with plantain extract. And yes, you can sketch her too while you are there."

Naheem cheered loudly and hurried through cleaning up after his bath.

Naheem tried ever so hard to be stealthy as he lightly limped on his cane. In truth, he was relieved to have it. The limp was not feigned. He hurt like hell after his training with bruises in too many places. He turned though to look in the eye the thugs who came close. It deterred them for thinking he was a target. _Just because I have a cane, does not mean I am too crippled not to hit you with it… lots._

He slunk between two stalls and leaned in a shadow against a wall, invisible to all in his grey novice uniform. There he took out his sketchbook and doodled various scenes for an hour, maybe two. Some of those scenes were of Tibah in her stall across the way in the distance. His eyes searched the area for a ladder. When he found one, he climbed and sat on a roof to sketch more.

A roof guard approached and poked him with his bow, "You don't belong here."

"Oh sorry, sir. I just thought it was a good place to practice sketching buildings for my drafting master. He assigned me the task of drawing the market from the perspective of a higher position. May I please stay? It was hard enough getting up the ladder with my cane." Naheem half smiled with one dimple, his soft brown eyes almost pleading. He proffered the picture so the guard could see the line drawing he had of the buildings from the market.

The guard relented, but stayed watching over his shoulder to make sure it was all he was doing.

Not wanting to overstay he permission, Naheem struggled back down the ladder and sat on the benchj near the fountain to try to draw people up close, like Tibah. In truth, he was trying to work up the courage to approach her and give her the picture of the rose. He added some final lines to his drawing of the apothecary shelf of his zillionth little doodle. As he looked up, Tibah and her father were packing the stall for the night as the sun started setting. Kadar standing guard, hand on sword hilt, watching and protecting the day's money.

"Kharra," Naheem muttered his mild Arabic curse. "I forgot the plantain." He slammed his sketchbook shut and stuffed it haphazardly into his satchel as he dodged people.

He tripped in his rush and face planted in front of Tibah's father, his cane skittering out and stop at the older man's feet. If there was ever a moment Naheem wanted the ground to swallow him whole, it was right now. Tibah's father pulled him to his feet and handed the cane back to him. Naheem muttered a thank you full of more embarrassment that he had ever felt in his life. He could not lift his eyes to meet Tibah's father's. "I'm sorry, sir. My uncle, Malik sent me to get some plantain extract."

"Then perhaps that should have been the first thing you did before sitting for hours in various places in the market drawing. Tibah, get this young plantain extract while I finish packing."

Naheem winced internally. He stood with his eyes glued to his own toes. He quietly exchanged some coin for the extract without looking at Tibah. She dabbed something on his freshly rescraped chin. "Hi," he finally managed heavy with shyness. She smiled back at him and he blushed. He turned from her and puller out the drawing he intended to give her. "I promised a rose." He handed the paper to her then bolted.

She opened her mouth to say something, but he was away, limping and all but still fast to vanish in the crowed. She tracked his path as she rocked up onto her toes. A small gasp escaped her as she looked at the final drawing he did of the rose for her. She had no idea he could draw, not to mention this well.

While Malik cooked some stew in his tiny kitchen in back, Altaïr thudded lightly into the open roofed room and curled up on the carpets to dose in the late afternoon sun. Malik almost called him a stray cat out loud when he found Altaïr asleep. He approached with caution; unafraid to touch Altaïr despite the repeated warning he gave Naheem about potentially startling an assassin. He reached down to stroke through Altaïr's hair.

Golden eyes snapped open as the assassin sat up so fast, it almost overbalanced Malik onto his ass. Altaïr caught him. His hood had fallen back in the startled moment. Color rose in both their cheeks. The moment stretched, both frozen in place. Their eyes locked unwillingly. Malik could see the pulse on Altaïr's neck beat faster. He swallowed and licked his lips trying to find a quick snarky remark to break this, but did he want to? Altaïr's eyes flicked to Malik's lips watching the tongue dart to moisten them then back to his eyes again as if lost in the charcoal depths. The sun heated up Malik in his black robes, or that was his mental excuse.

"Altaïr, let go."

Altaïr tore his eyes from Malik as he released him. Shame and desire burning him from head to toe for the man who never punished nor rewarded him in ways he understood.

"I have to get the stew so it doesn't burn." Malik tried to explain as he stood to do just that.

Altaïr rolled over and curled in a tight ball, pulling up his hood to hide. "I don't want any."

Malik had the sudden urge to hit Altaïr. "Fine!" he snapped. "Sit in that corner and cry if you have to!" he stormed away.

* * *

A/N #2 – Heian drew a pic of Tibah. It is perfect as a sketch that Naheem would have done of her.

http:/ azarethiantitan .deviantart .com /art/Tibah-for-ScarletCougar-182620514

A/N #3 – And here is the final rose picture Naheem did for Tibah.

http:/ evenstar13 .deviantart .com /art/The-Rose-63072967


	173. Chapter 173: Altair's Blind Lust YAOI

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Mu-wa-ha-ha-ha… muwahahahaha…. Mmmmm… YAOI YAOI YAOI. There, I have warned you thoroughly!

* * *

Malik had the sudden urge to hit Altaïr. "Fine!" he snapped. "Sit in that corner and cry if you have to!" He stormed away.

Today, Malik's venom felt especially poisonous. And to think Altaïr had been entertaining the notion of apologizing for being an ass. He was not trying to be anything but… but what? Sulking? That he had done plenty of while he roamed the city that morning. He wasn't even sulking about the heated with desire moment that ended in rejection yet again. It just confused him and the confusion embarrassed him. _I am not sulking. I am … I am embarrassed and want to just be left alone._

But he didn't really want to be alone.

He wanted, desperately wanted, that moment again. Looking into charcoal eyes and reddening cheeks. Watching that tongue dart to wet nervous lips. Altaïr wanted to kiss those lips. Altaïr wanted Malik to do something, anything, to him. Kiss him, hit him, fuck him. Something other than abandon him. It was as confusing as when the Master sent him on his way without rewards or punishments.

He listened almost jealously as Malik reassured Naheem. The novice had returned and muttered through the humiliating experience he had with Tibah and her father. The boy was confident in all things until he stood before a pretty girl. Altaïr felt much the same, however, whenever he stood before Malik. Life taunted him and tempted him then taunted him again. Life gave him bliss then tore it away to leave him bleeding inside.

His own thoughts twisted and poisoned him so he lost track of time. The sky was dark when he realized he may actually have been crying in that corner, though rather silently. What jostled him from his inner darkness was a bowl of hot stew set quietly in front of his nose and a gentle hand that rested briefly on his shoulder before Malik stepped away to instruct Naheem on how to store the extra stew in the crockery for the next day.

Altaïr sat up and ate the stew despite his knotted stomach.

Naheem remained in the back room with Malik learning how to mix plantain extract with hot tallow to create good bruise ointment. It turned into a simple lesson about first aid and self-care. He learned how to make cleansing washes and some basic healing salves. He was informed of the dangers of alcohol not just as a sin by some religious standards, not just as a foolish source of drunkenness with its consequences, but also of the potentially deadly thinning of the blood it causes. While it may dull the mind and pain screeching nerves, it could thin the blood and thus cause a bleeding man to bleed out and die. This lead to a short lesson about pain killers.

Altaïr drifted off to the familiar drone of Malik's instructor's voice that seemed deceptively familiar. It was the same tone and perhaps even the very same lesson that Malik had given Kadar years ago. Kadar was now dead. The fact of that hit Altaïr like a knife in the gut. Odd how a year ago, Altaïr would have said how that day ruined his life. Yet now, he could only admit how it ruined Malik's.

He dreamed of holding a baby, his baby, in his arms. How small and soft he was. Sufyan. Stephan. Himself. Altaïr woke from the dream in the darkness of a silent Bureau. It was just a dream. Maybe it had never happened after all. That was easier to believe. _Nothing is True…_

_But Altaïr, some things are true…_

He shook Malik's voice from his head and tried to return to the oblivion of sleep that would never be long enough or oblivious enough.

The clack of the roof lattice shutting and locking startled Altaïr awake. It was barely dawn. Altaïr reached for his weapon's belt only to be hushed by Malik, "Back to sleep, Altaïr. It is nothing." But he knew it had to be something. The vague shout of Templars on a roof alerted him. Malik simply pulled a blanket over Altaïr and hushed him again. With some pillowed dropped over the weapons belt, they vanished from sight. "Safety and Peace, Altaïr. All is well." Malik returned to the back with wake and speak with Naheem. Altaïr accepted Malik's words and drifted off again.

He didn't hear the conversation in the back.

"Naheem, stay here while I run my errand out tomorrow." Malik whispered.

Naheem scrubbed sleep from an eye. "Where will you be going?"

"I promised to make some arrangements and try to fix the blunder of yesterday." Naheem blushed with humiliation at Malik's words. "I am sure it will be fine. I will also look in on the child."

That perked up the novice who expressed concern for Altaïr. Malik instructed, "Stay with him. Don't let him follow me. Keep busy, do… whatever, training, whatever. Don't let him leave. I'll be back later."

Altaïr stirred to the sound of Malik leaving and locking the door after changing the banners. He was slightly surprised by Naheem's presentation of breakfast. The smells of frying caked and fruit caused his stomach to growl demandingly. Naheem teased him by passing the sumptuous plate under his nose, forcing him to rouse to sitting to snatch it from the rotten novice. "Cruel boy." Naheem laughed at his master's grump. The joke was further punctuated by Altaïr liking what he ate despite the presence of bananas fried in the flat cake batter with other random fruit that were not going to survive the heat of another day.

Naheem recorded his lessons from last night while Altaïr cleaned weaponry. Together they moved items from the attic and the crates on the high ledges so they were more accessible for Malik and so the main supply trunk was restocked. "Master Malik says you go through more uniforms than any other assassin. Is that true and why?" Naheem still had that knack of asking annoyingly complicated questions that required lengthy answers out of Altaïr.

Altaïr pressed his lips together and let his hood hide his face as he stuffed the folded uniforms into the trunk while Naheem handed them to him. "First of all, nothing is true… and everything is permitted."

Naheem crossed his arms, "What kind of a convoluted circular and confusing answer is that?"

With a great sigh, Altaïr sat on the trunk and Naheem immediately sat on the floor to hear the lengthy answer that was now obliged. "I do not use up more uniforms than any other assassin. And even if I did, I am allowed to. Nothing is true. Everything is permitted. It means free will. It means that laws arise and fall and rise again, but are not from any divinity. There is no one Truth, no one true way. Nothing is True. Everything is permitted because we have the free will to do whatever we choose to do. The point is to make our choices wise. That is where codes and creeds and ethics come in, to help guide us to understand what the wise choices are." He stopped there unsure if he remotely made any sense.

Naheem sat riveted to the explanation. It was the most philosophical he had ever heard Altaïr be. It rivaled all of Malik's philosophical-nesses.

Altaïr sighed, "Never mind if you don't understand right now. It took me a long time to understand. And I still make mistakes…" It was his desperate way of trying to get the shiny look out of Naheem's eyes. He huffed away onto the sunny carpets and stared at the lattice roof Master Al Mualim on his mind. The Masters last dealings with Altaïr had been so ambivalent. He had no idea where he stood in the order anymore. He did not get any praise. He did not get any reward. He did not get any punishment, even when he dared to challenge his Master to almost purposely earn one. He felt the same now regarding Malik. The mixed messages were so confusing and frustrating.

He started to strip down and work out in just his pants. Naheem followed suit. They matched each other move for move. Altaïr stuck to when Naheem knew for the first hour, then showed him a new sequence of punches and blocks that they practiced with side by side. The motions were neither fast nor slow, just aimed to work things out a bit and warm up the body. Then Altaïr slowed the moves down to a painfully slow crawl. It was something he learned on his China trip. "Slow them to learn precision. Train each muscle."

Naheem soon groaned from the terrible pain that throbbed in his leg.

They stopped and Altaïr pulled out the bath and started to fill it with hot water. Naheem finished that job and soaked in it with a blissful little smile while Altaïr washed the sweat from himself out of a basin of heated water. His thoughts wandered again to the interchanges with Al Mualim and Malik and the inner turmoil and frustrations. His own hand never seemed to be satisfying enough, never produced the right feel. That his eyes scanned the room for a suitable replacement tool only goaded and taunted him and humiliated him. _Am I that desperate to feel? God! I am… I just want to feel… something… need something to fill the emptiness inside._ He looked over at Naheem weighing the needs and promises. Thinking about how well of the novice might be, certainly how well off Malik would be without him.

He rubbed the heel of his hand into his head as if it ached. Naheem watched the fidgetiness of his master, the way he washed and dried himself and the way his eyes lingered on his normal escape route. Training was a distraction. _I know another distraction._ Naheem stood, still damp from the bath, the ache in his thigh gone from the hot soak. He emptied both bath and basin before approaching Altaïr, who turned to face him in the sunny space on the carpets. Naheem held a small jar of salve and a cloth.

Relief filled Altaïr's eyes. Oh yes, he wanted this, from whoever would give it to him at this point. Better this than some… thing…. "Are you?"

"I promised you I will fill your need when you had one too great to bear. I don't mind. I want to." Naheem's honesty and frankness washed through Altaïr like warn trust.

Altaïr stepped closer. "Close your eyes." Naheem complied sensing that Altaïr had knelt and placed his hands on Naheem's hips. Naheem could feel the light press of nine fingers. His jaw dropped as he gasped when Altaïr swallowed around his stiffening shaft. Naheem dropped both the cloth and the jar so as to place his hands on Altaïr's shoulders for steadiness. His education was too short. Altaïr pulled away too soon. Naheem groaned plaintively. The novice knelt no longer able to be steady on his feet. Altaïr wrapped a red sash about his eyes as a blindfold. "Never hesitate with any thrust of any blade. Please… no hesitation." Then he salved the novice neatly and slickly.

Naheem reached out to determine where Altaïr now positioned himself. A hand brushes hot flesh. A back, a hip. His second hand groped to be sure. Altaïr had assumed a submissive position on all fours. He would have used a table but they were here and he was also not hesitating. He wanted too badly. Naheem pressed against him poorly, but the feel of flesh against flesh still raced through their veins. A few awkward blind adjustments and Naheem felt his point of entry.

In one steady push, Naheem sheathed himself into his master. It was searing and surprising for Altaïr who gasped this time then moaned, "Again." Naheem pulled out and thrust back in with an UNHF! Yes, this is exactly what Altaïr deeply wanted, over and over, blindingly and painfully if it must be. He demanded again and again. Naheem eagerly met the requests. Each thrust hard and deep. Flash slapped on impact. Altaïr no longer needed to command Naheem. They huffed and they grunted at whatever pace Naheem chose for impaling Altaïr repeatedly.

Naheem pushed Altaïr's shoulders downward. The angle changed for them both as did the sensations. Naheem hunkers over his master, and arm tight around his middle, the other on the floor for support as his thrusts became jerky and shorter and thus faster. Altaïr remained usually quiet, but his breathing gave him away. The fit around Naheem's blade of contracted tightly. He rose up on his knees, gripping Altaïr's hips with his hands as he lengthened the thrusts once again to feel the exquisite grip around him as he push hard into that heat again. He was close to release… so close…

* * *

A/N #2 – I finished homework around 1:00am. I wrote the first half of this chapter between then and 3:00am. See what a late night Energy drink does! Must get more of THAT! The Yaoi I wrote on the bus just to freak out the people who choose to read over my shoulder while I type on the bus. They look over then away. They look over, gasp and look away. Then they turn to look again. As if they are shocked at what I am writing or shocked that they read it. And yet! Like witnessing a train wreck, they can't seem to look away. *snicker* Next time I will offer to read it out loud to them since they seemed so interested.

A/N #3 – some sexy Altaïr

http:/ eikiel .deviantart .com /art/Altair-v1-colored-166296160


	174. Chapter 174: Malik Walks In

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 –YAOI! You are warned! Also… jealousy can be a TERRIBLE green monster that swiftly snaps out of control without rhyme or reason.

* * *

"I promised to make some arrangements and try to fix the blunder of yesterday." Naheem blushed with humiliation at Malik's words. "I am sure it will be fine. I will also look in on the child."

Malik had cast one last small glance in Altaïr's direction. After changing the banners outside the Bureau, he locked the door. The sun was just starting to peak out over the city walls. He walked with purpose, though avoided any groups of guards and definitely avoided Templars. There really were too many in the city.

Last night, Malik had hardly slept. He did everything he could to not think about how close he was to fiercely claiming a kiss from Altaïr. Maybe not fiercely. But claiming one just the same. Those golden eyes were so pleading and desperate. _I will not be your drug. I will be anything else for you, but not your drug. Ok, maybe if you apologized for being… no, not even that anymore. If you asked, just asked me, I would give in I think._ That was the bottom line. He wanted Altaïr to be conscious of what he was doing and consciously ask for what he wanted. But Altaïr only kept silent.

Malik knew how hurt Altaïr felt over many things. He himself had felt so when he finally came to Jerusalem. Alone, isolated, in physical and emotional agony. The things he understood and loved had been torn away from him forever. The pang still came and overwhelmed him sometimes. He wanted to grab hold of Altaïr and weep for his losses in his once close friend's shoulder. He stopped walking and leaned against the wall in a dark shadow, arm over his eyes till he regain control over the wave of grief.

In many ways, Malik was still so alone. Altaïr never really stayed and even when he was there, he was hard to reach, hard to break through the stoic exterior. They didn't really have a friendship. Naheem and Junayd, well, they were novices. He no longer had family. His friends were more working acquaintances. He pushed his own feelings aside. Naheem had also lost everything, mother, then father, and any life he had known before as a normal commoner's family. Malik wanted to make sure that at least Naheem still retained a sense of love in his life with a wife and perhaps children.

Then, before he could leave the shadow, the twinge of jealousy hit. Naheem and Altaïr. They had grown close, closer than mentor and novice. There was trust there that Altaïr had not opened to anyone else in a long while despite Malik's efforts. _Why can't he trust ME!_ He knew why. There was hate and betrayal and anger and blood between them. That did not exist with Naheem. Truth, though, Malik had this same growing relationship with Naheem. He became the brother he had lost in a way. The nephew he never got to have. _My novice, my nephew._ He admitted that there was a kind of love there for Naheem.

Family. That was the bottom line. _We fight more fiercely for the things we love and the freedom to have them than for anything else._ That is what Saladin and Richard and the Templars did not see in their third Crusade war. They did not see the families they destroyed in the process, the lives they have t0orn apart, the innocents they have killed. He nodded to the informant with the family as he passed him. Family.

The informants knew not to tell Altaïr should the assassin come asking where Malik goes or if they know the location of the child. It was to protect an innocent life, the only real family Altaïr had left.

Speaking of family, Malik knocked upon the door of the estate. To his surprise, Abby answered the door. He was dressed well, like a fine accountant. He had been working in the solarium. He smiled shyly and invited Malik within, the man who had saved his very life. Abby owed Malik everything. "You look well Abdel. I trust everything is healing. Has someone helped remove the stitches?" Abby nodded and guided Malik within, mentioning how Tibah had acted as his nurse and removed the stitches, but he still had pains in his side and stomach if he moved around too much. Malik agreed to check on him after attending to the business he came for.

Tibah's father greeted him warmly and already babbled excitedly about the triplets. Malik could not get a word in edgewise as he was steered to the upper private room where the mother and three little babies resided. The two girls were small and complaining for a feeding. Malik checked them carefully and declared that they were exceptionally healthy for premature babies. They were still small for three month olds, but he felt confident that they would catch up soon enough to their new older brother of four months of age. The boy watched everything with wide eyes. Malik wished he could bring Altaïr. Maybe one day when it was safe. Tibah's father and mother already loved this baby like he was their own, a son, their second in the midst of so many girls. Tibah's mother declared she was going to overdose on tansy tea after breast feeding to ensure she never had any more. She was done birthing babies.

A stray thought skipped through Malik's head. It was about maybe Altaïr might find a woman he liked well enough to marry and have children with. He firmly and jealously banished the thought, however. No, Malik wanted Altaïr to himself after this last mission, just for a little while. He wanted to try to heal the rifts between them, fill the holes and gaps in both their lives. He wanted to renew their friendship, maybe more, for a little while. Maybe it was totally selfish, but Malik didn't care. So much had been taken from him. He had lost so much. He felt he deserved to earn something good in return, earn a moment of respite. He was too afraid to lose Altaïr. And yet he felt he was little by little every day. They had gotten closer and yet not.

The small boy in his arms wailed boldly and the mother took him from Malik to feed him.

Malik sat in the den with Tibah's father as lunch was brought in so they may discuss Tibah's betrothal to Naheem, the dowry sums, and hopefully salvage the bungling Naheem managed yesterday. It was relaxed. They discussed politics, business, Naheem. In truth, Tibah's father thought Naheem to be completely sweet and adorable and worried that Tibah work rule him. Malik chuckled, "I think that is exactly what he would like." They both laughed.

It meandered into a good afternoon where they made arrangements for dowry payments. It would be enough for Tibah and Naheem to buy their own small home. Malik would have offered part of the building that is unused by the bureau, but Malik did not own it himself and would need permission from the Master of the Order. He tried not to think about how suddenly complicated he might be making Naheem's life and hoped it would all work out somehow.

There was a certain little practically four whole years old little informant girl Malik also wanted to stop in to see on his way home. And she was a total joy and had grown on him greatly. She took him by the hand when he visited and lead him up the stairs so she could show him the baby birds and the little mean hawklings as she called them. And named them all to him twice just so he would not forget. OH! And she had to tell him about the baby in her mummy's tummy that would come soon and that she had lots of name ideas too, which of course she told Malik over and over all the way down the stairs. He slipped the family a small sum of coin from the sale of his velum as a gift to help with the new addition to the family on its way.

On his way back to the Bureau, he could not stop thinking about how he could try to spend some of the next agonizing weeks of wait for Robert. Altaïr was surely going to go stir crazy with nothing to do but wait. He always was poor at that part of being an assassin. Malik could sit and wait for hours and hours for the right moment. Altaïr would always lose patience. So Malik decided he would try to make this quality time with Altaïr.

Yes, yes, this could work. It might help build trust too. They could sit and go over the journals together instead of Malik doing so alone while Altaïr was out. They could debate the nuances of AL Mualim's cryptic messages. Naheem surely would have input to help. Fresh young minds often had fresh new perspectives. He could challenge him to chess or sit on the roof with him. They could plan together how to deal with the plethora of Templars here after Robert was snuffed from existence.

Maybe, just maybe, Malik could go off with Altaïr to that ruined church and train himself with Altaïr. It would give him an idea how much he really had lost in skills and how much he could truly gain back.

Then maybe, just maybe, Altaïr would see he could be trusted. He was there to be his friend, not just one of the few would was willing to heal him and work out the issues Altaïr struggled with. _What I am doing is MORE than just my job. My job is just to heal and assign and track and log assassin activity. What I do for you, I do out of friendship. You hurt me, but others hurt me more. They also hurt you. And so did I. I will make amends as soon as I step inside._

Malik unlocked the door and changed the flags. His mind busy with hopeful ideas of spending time with Altaïr. He staggered to a halt in the doorway to the garden room under the sun dappled lattice.

The fit around Naheem's blade of flesh contracted tightly. He rose up on his knees, gripping Altaïr's hips with his hands as he lengthened the thrusts to feel the exquisite grip around him as he push hard into that heat again. He was close to release… so close…

Malik blinked in shock. His novice, blindfolded, sexually engaged with Altaïr. He wasn't sure who angered him more. Naheem could hardly know what he was getting involved in. Altaïr should not be doing this… not with THEIR young novice.

A hand gripped Naheem's shoulder hard enough to bruise as Malik pulled the novice off of Altaïr almost with a furious yell, "How! DARE! You!"

Naheem tumbled blindly back, pulling off his blindfold in terror. He stammered to try to explain, but clearly Malik was in no mood to listen. So Naheem scrambled to clean himself a little and dress at least in pants and shirt for modesty, his cheeks afire with humiliation.

Malik grabbed a fistful of Altaïr's hair close to his ear and hauled him up then out, then through the gate into the back room roaring incoherent fury. "That is my Novice, Altaïr! NOVICE!" He shoved Altaïr into the bookcase. The green monster of jealousy and the red one of anger both has total control over Malik now. And his weapon of choice was his words. He knew too much about Altaïr and wielded his choice weapon as deadly as he wielded a sword, deadlier, for you could stitch the wound cut by steel, but not the ones cut by words.

* * *

A/N #2 – … and the bad will only get worse…


	175. Chapter 175: Altair Chose to Dig

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – When knocked from a cliff, there is only one direction… down… to hit rock bottom. When you hit, then there is only what direction, to climb back up from the chasm. Some just choose to dig instead.

* * *

Malik grabbed a fistful of Altaïr's hair close to his ear and hauled him up then out, then through the gate into the back room roaring incoherent fury. "That is my Novice, Altaïr! NOVICE!" He shoved Altaïr into the bookcase. The green monster of jealousy and the red one of anger both had total control over Malik now. And his weapon of choice was his words. He knew too much about Altaïr and wielded his choice weapon as deadly as he wielded a sword, deadlier, for you could stitch the wounds cut by steel, but not the ones cut by words.

Naheem slipped into the back room desperately wanting to try to explain that it was not as Malik thought. Malik's anger pinned him to the wall. "STAY OUT OF THIS! I will deal with you later!" So he shrank back, sank down and hugged his knees to wait his turn at whatever tongue lashing he knew was due him. Naheem knew there was something between Altaïr and Malik. He wished he had never doing this with Altaïr. Malik only got this angry when he was hurt. Naheem scrunched his eyes shut.

Malik had every right to be shocked. He had every right to be upset, even angry. Altaïr flinched and backed away till the book shelf passed and his back pressed against the door frame of the tiny kitchen and waste room.

He still struggled to collect all his wits. He had been just on the edge of wonder and brief bliss. He felt filled inside. The hands upon him seemed to care. Even his vision showed the blue light washing around him. Then suddenly it was gone. It stopped. The sting on his scalp forced his attention to the side to see the old furious look on Malik's face, no different than the hate Malik showed when he became dai and encountered Altaïr for the first missions.

Altaïr was naked, naked not just physically. He wished he had at least his hood to hide in, to shield him from Malik. Every snap and yell cut him to the core. Malik paced the small back room ranting. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. Maybe it was. Maybe things were never supposed to ever become good between them. What was the point then in the entire struggle for this supposed redemption?

Malik kept tearing at Altaïr verbally. Malik dredged up every jealous, envious, spiteful, hateful thing he could from as early as when Altaïr became an arrogant solo assassin. So much was said before, in between, and after. Even about the loss of his arm and of Kadar, and even unjustly the loss of Faruq that Malik knew was not really Altaïr's fault. Not that much of it was. "You could not wait? No! You had to fuck with the novice! Has Al Mualim twisted you THAT much! Does he even know what he was getting into? Or are you no better than the Master! Is this how you will be with other novices? Is this how you will be with your own son? Dammit Altaïr! If you needed it so bad…"

Naheem covered his ear with his hands. There was more there than he could understand, more than he thought was true. Altaïr would never have killed Malik's brothers. Altaïr would never have done anything to hurt Malik. Altaïr respected, even loved, Malik too much. Naheem knew this. Why didn't Malik?

The rest of the ranting was lost on Altaïr. He wasn't sure what he had done wrong. But then, he never seemed to do anything right in Malik's eyes. _I am just wrong. A twisted fuck. That is why he took my son away. I can't be trusted with him. I am nothing…_ He had managed to back into the tiny table of the kitchen workspace. His hand landed on it to brace himself from the verbal onslaught. His vision wavered. He wished for oblivion, wished it to swallow him into its dark depths of nothingness where he belonged. Something sharp nipped his fingers.

In a split moment the kitchen knife was firm in his grip. The bite down the inside length of his forearm brought welcome sharpness and awareness. It slid through the soft flesh past the wrist, the tip tinged off the metal waste grill then the stone wall. Red splashed the grill. The pounding and rush of hit filled his ears as the ref fluid soaked his hand and dripped through his fingers. _That wasn't so hard. It would be over soon. It would be quiet soon._

Scene tore both mentors off the pedestal Naheem had believed them on. It humanized them and showed them for who they were. Men, capable of doing the same horrible and hurtful things as the next man. It stripped them to the core so that both Malik and Altaïr bled their unspoken miseries and insecurities. Malik did so with words. Altaïr was always a man of action.

Then there was blood. Real blood tinging the air with its iron flavor.

"Altaïr! By ALLAH! What have you done!"

The world seemed bent on prolonging his insanity and agony. Altaïr was dragged kicking and screaming from the edge. He howled from the depths of his soul over and over. He fought and struggled. Ankles tangled. He fell face down on the stones of the back room. Desperation held the knife in a white knuckled grip bent on cutting himself more in an attempt to speed him to oblivion. When he found he could not move to do so he roared, screamed, wailed, howled. Tears mixing with the blood smeared and pooling on the floor. He was held firm. His vision like heat waves off hot stoned blurred everything.

* * *

A/N #2 – Then everyone sees their mistakes and their consequences become all too clear.

A/N #3 - Several new folks recently reviewed. Thanks! reviews keep me writing! I hope I have made the "the mother of all car accidents" to read. Many of you knew it was coming. I hope I am meeting your expectations of horror in a situation where everyone is at the same time right and yet very very wrong.


	176. Chapter 176: Malik's Reality Check

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – When knocked from a cliff, there is only one direction… down… to hit rock bottom. When you hit, then there is only what direction, to climb back up from the chasm. Some just choose to dig instead.

* * *

"Altaïr! By ALLAH! What have you done!" Malik shrieked in shock. He dragged Altaïr kicking and screaming from the edge. _By Allah, what have I done?_ He knew he had said things he had not really meant. Things that were not really true, but at the time he could not stop their rushing from his mouth to drown Altaïr.

Altaïr howled from the depths of his soul over and over. They fought and struggled, but Malik was always better at wrestling and knew how to pin and hold him. He hooked his ankle in and tangled it with Altaïr's, forcing him face down on the stones of the back room. Desperation held the knife in Altaïr's white knuckled grip bent on cutting himself more in an attempt to speed him to oblivion.

Panic filled Malik's heart. He did all he could to stop Altaïr from cutting himself more. The words that so closely skirted attempts of suicide in Altaïr journal flared into Malik's mind only now able to claw through the fury and shake loose the logic that should have been in control. Malik knew he had done to Altaïr the one thing he never wanted to.

When he found he could not move to do so Altaïr roared, screamed, wailed, howled. Tears mixing with the blood smeared and pooling on the floor. Malik held him, but could neither firm reclaim the knife, not stop the bleeding. His heart pounded in his ears. "NAHEEM!" The teen jerked but did not look over. "Naheem! Help me! I have only one hand! Get the knife from him!"

Naheem darted forward and pried the knife from Altaïr's fingers, throwing it into the blood smeared kitchen before scuttling back out of the way. "NOOOOoooOOoooo!" howled Altaïr. Naheem could not believe that the great Eagle of Masyaf, his hero, would ever do something like this, would be so miserable inside to try to take his own life. How could he not have noticed Altaïr's desperation? Yet he knew he noticed, he just didn't think it would turn like this. He wanted to yell at Malik and blame him.

"Get a cord, NOW! Tie it… Naheem! NOW… he's going to bleed to death!"

Malik's words cut through and again he tossed a few things on the shelves till he found something to suffice. His feet slipped a little in the slick blood, warm between his toes. He knelt into that blood and again fought with Altaïr for an arm. The flesh sliding in his hands as he tied the tourniquet tight. Then he backed away again, mortified to have so much of his masters blood upon him, soaking the knees of his pants, all under his bare feet, on his sleeves and chest of his shirt, and all over his hands. He scuttled back again to the wall and hugged his knees to watch.

Altaïr seemed to just stare at him. Slowly the struggling ended. Altaïr grew so still and just stared. "Master Malik," Naheem's voice shook. "Master Malik, he's not moving…" Altaïr's eyes stared blankly.

The body below his was still, the muscles relaxing. Malik panted heavily and did not let up his hold just yet, in case this was just a ploy. There was so much blood. It took Naheem's words to make him realize just how still Altaïr was. He eased off, but Altaïr did not move, not even a twitch. Malik's heart jumped through a few erratic beats of further panic that this was his fault. That this was the ultimate loss and it was all his fault. He placed a shaking hand onto Altaïr's back and whispered his name in the growing silence.

No response.

Malik gulped and checked Altaïr's pulse, expecting none, feeling accusing eyes glaring and pleading from Naheem.

The faintest slow erratic rhythm spoke of life, though fading, under his fingertip. Silently Malik thanked every divinity he could think of, even demonic ones in case mythologies were as wrong about them as he was about Altaïr just this moment.

He pulled Altaïr over to cradle him a little in his lap. Altaïr's eyes rolled. Uncontrolled shivering started to wrack his body. "He's going into shock. Naheem… blankets… lots of them. Water, my medical supplies." He was relieved Naheem obeyed so instantly.

"You had better save him. We did nothing wrong and nothing I wasn't fully aware of or willing to do." Naheem finally managed to slap Malik with his own words. "Hell, I only did what YOU should have." He helped wrap Altaïr's shivering body, holding him while Malik washed and stitched.

Malik accepted that verbal slap. "What you did was still wrong. You just don't understand how wrong or why. And … it hurt me. You should have told me."

They took turns holding Altaïr on a clean bed bundled in blankets, offering their body heat for a man who didn't have enough blood in him to produce his own. The other would clean and scrub and disinfect sections of the Bureau, eliminating the evidence of the horror that had just occurred there. Malik hugged Altaïr to him wishing he could take back everything he had said. He wished he had thought logically about what he witnessed and not just reacted. Of course Altaïr would seek to fill whatever he could not get from Al Mualim. Of course Altaïr, hurting, would immediately turn to the next best source of comfort and affection. _And of course I was not giving it to him. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he really did need me to fill the void. _

_Please… don't leave me now, Altaïr. Hang in there for me. Please. I am here for you. I have always been here. _

These were his prayers every time Altaïr was wounded and torn by guards, Templars, or his targets. Malik just never thought, never believed that he would drive Altaïr to this. Somehow, even though he knew how fragile Altaïr was becoming, he missed how fragile Altaïr actually was. _You really had no intention of living through this last mission, did you?_

Naheem came and sat beside Malik. He looked over at the sleeping Altaïr, pale and shallowly breathing. "Master Malik? I knew what I was doing. But you're right. I don't understand why it was so wrong. Why did he? What happened?"

"I am sorry, Naheem. I am so sorry. Things have been done to him, since he was very young. It twists a man's perspective, makes them need, like a drug. Altaïr was hurt and confused and turned to you. You became the crutch I didn't want to become." He had never told anyone these things. They were his hard secrets.

_The trials and tribulations of two friends who have grown together and been driven apart in duty and tragedy. Does time heal all wounds and reveal all truths? What secrets are sealed in silence and bound by trust? When you see the great eagle soaring, can you see how broken the wings of its soul are? Assassins endure in the shadows and fly the moment they are seen. The eagle mates for life and soars solo and lonely when its mate is lost till its body and soul dies._

"I wanted him to heal more. Inside. I wanted to help him understand what had happened to him and the things happening now. I wanted to help him. But I missed the part where I should have told him directly that I was here for him, just… not ready yet. I should have given him… something. Confessed my friendship maybe." Malik almost forgot Naheem's quiet presence. "Should have told him how I feel while he was pouring out how he felt onto chaotic pages of a journal."

Naheem watched the tenderness of Malik absently stroking through Altaïr's hair while he held him close against his chest as if the action was so common and no one knew before because it happened while everyone else slept. Had he known how much Malik felt for Altaïr, he would never have risked causing Malik so much pain.

"We were close once, long ago," Malik continued figuring since he was confessing something, he might as well confess it all. "I suspected he was being hurt, violated, but wasn't sure and was always told whatever happened to him was part of his training. We were partners, worked and trained, and lived together. We grew to be more. Then we were separated. It was so sudden. He became a star, outshone me faster than I could hope to keep up. He was the youngest to earn the rank of master assassin. He pushed me away and treated me like camel spit. I didn't know he had done that to keep me safe from the kind of less than moral training and missions he was doing."

"Then there was our last mission together, with my little brother who was only a little older than you, barely. Solomon's Temple. A year and a few months ago. He was such a cocky arrogant ass there. I got caught up. Kadar was so fond of him, I was jealous. I was losing my baby brother to Altaïr and Altaïr to my baby brother. In the end, I lost them both and my arm. Altaïr acted. I reacted when I should have hid. He was thrown through a wall and lost to us. I blew the cover for me and my brother. Kadar lost his life. I lost an arm. But I retrieved the treasure we were sent to get. On my return, I left a blood trail all the way to Masyaf for the Templars to follow. Apparently Altaïr was again the hero there. I was angry, in pain and blamed him. He took the fall for me though. He took the blame for leading the Templars there. He spared me shame and he paid the price for it."

Saying it all out loud made it all more real. "They stripped him of rank and forced him to relearn the creed and work as a solo novice again on beginner missions. He had nine kills to do to earn back each of his nine ranks. I spent a good part of that time holding him responsible for all my misery. I never knew he cared for me when I had my arm removed, nor that perhaps I was not so wounded and maybe didn't need it removed. And he didn't kill my elder brother Faruq. Well, he did, but he was under a powerful coercion drug. He didn't even remember the deed till it was dragged out of him a few months ago."

Naheem gave Malik this… look. Malik read it correctly and frowned painfully to himself. "No, he did not deserve most of what I said. Naheem, our master still violates him, to keep him in his control. I know it is wrong. It broke Altaïr is ways you and I will never really understand."

As far as Naheem was concerned, what had happened for the last while broke both Altaïr and Malik, not just Malik. "He loves you. It's in everything he does. Everything you just told me. He loves you so much that all he seems to have done is for you. He's so busy trying to be something for you that he isn't anything on his own or for himself. If I lived like that, I wouldn't know who I am. I'd believe I was nothing… and maybe do something like… like he did." Naheem spoke as he fetched the coffee he had brewed while he finished cleaning the kitchen. "And you won't be losing him to me or me to him. You are BOTH my mentors. I love you both, though… I really… REALLY want to marry Tibah and uh…" he blushed deeply. "Is it wrong how badly I want to do things with her and to have her like it and to not be an idiot in bed with her?"

Malik chuckled softly not sure if he did so because of the silliness of the teen before him or out of relief that Naheem still like girls and that he wasn't wasting his time arranging that marriage.

He sipped the coffee and later that evening changed the bandages. He lay down to sleep with Altaïr, holding him close to keep him warm. Into Altaïr's ear he whispered, "I am sorry, my friend, sorrier than I can hope to convey. Please, don't die on me. You are all I have. I need you."

Naheem came in well past midnight to turn out the lamps. Malik was asleep. He checked Altaïr's pulse as Malik had shown him. By a low candle, he sketched the sleeping men. To himself, he decided it was time to step up to a new level of responsibility, one not unlike when his mother was in the last stages of her illness. _They need time together, both of them, to heal from a long time of hurts. I can't help them heal. But I can give them the time to by taking care of everything else. I may be a novice, but I am also a man._ They were on a time limit though with Robert de Sable on his way to Jerusalem.

* * *

A/N #2 – Then everyone sees their mistakes and their consequences become all too clear.


	177. Chapter 177: Altair Lost in the Fog

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Redress to Ark's review from chapter 168 at the end of this chapter. Even though this person likely won't read the redress, I feel the need to do so… in case they do, or in case others feel the same.

* * *

To himself, Naheem decided it was time to step up to a new level of responsibility, one not unlike when his mother was in the last stages of her illness. _They need time together, both of them, to heal from a long time of hurts. I can't help them heal. But I can give them the time to by taking care of everything else. I may be a novice, but I am also a man._ They were on a time limit though with Robert de Sable on his way to Jerusalem.

He screamed himself nearly hoarse till he grew too tired to do so. He struggled so hard till every muscle ached till he was too tired to do so. The oblivion was not happening as he hoped. They would not let him. He was sorry Naheem sat terrified watching. He stopped struggling as the darkness came in dizzy waves. Then came the fog to swallow him as an icy chill seemed to permeate his naked body. Altaïr relaxed and let it take him. Fog was supposed to lead to death and nothingness.

Yet there he stood in the fog like a man waiting. He stood naked as he had entered it. Barely audible whispers snuck in through the fog but could not be made clear. Altaïr waited a long time before he started to walk. He wasn't sure what to do. He always thought this was the place between, the moment before the soul left to wherever death claimed it. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this was the nothingness of death. It was quiet and cold and peaceful in its way. He walked on, or maybe floated. He was not sure which.

Naheem had relieved Malik only briefly here and there. Malik appreciated the peace to stay with Altaïr. The assassin remained unmoving, ghastly in his laxness. His skin looked paler than usual, drained and almost ashen. For two whole days Malik clung to the man whispering to him, praying, watching. There was nothing anyone could do but that. Sometimes Naheem witnessed Malik's tears, begging Altaïr not to leave him. Altaïr had been injured, and near death many times, but never teetering so long. Other times, Malik could fight or stitch or do something. Naheem could see that the helplessly holding Altaïr was like holding a drowning man in the sea with no hope of a life raft to save either of you.

Naheem did his best to be like the dai in the Bureau when people came by. He logged their missions and results. He collected their feathers. He found Malik's list of targets and hesitantly assigned ranked assassins to them. The arrival of a young first rank assassin no older than Naheem himself baffled him. He didn't know what to do with this one. He loathed the notion of having to step into the hidden back and ask Malik for advice. Then he remembered that Altaïr had been stripped of rank to novice and had to start missions all over from scratch. He flipped through the log book for those early missions and sought an idea. "Here we go, Novice. As I await information on a suitable target, I will assign you a task to help you become familiar with Jewrusalem." The notion formed more and more clear in his mind and he was excited and proud of the new idea. "I have a map of Jerusalem. I assume you can do a leap of Faith from a height?"

"Oh yes Rafiq! I am quite good," replied the young assassin.

"Then you will find each of the eagle points of the city. Do one district at a time and return here to mark them on this map. Novice, I mean, assassin. Be careful of the Templars. Don't engage them. Stay hidden. There are others on those missions and I would not want you injured by friendly steel."

"Of course, Rafiq." Replied the eager young assassin.

While being called rafiq felt really good, Naheem also felt guilty of the undeserved title and corrected the young assassin, "One more thing. I am not a rafiq, just a novice training under the dai, Malik A-Sayf."

The young assassin chuckled. "He must be a hard mentor! Novice, the fact that you have been deemed scholarly enough and with the skills adequate for management to train and assist a dai means you are a rafiq."

Naheem smiled back. "Off with you!" he shooed the assassin in his best Malik impersonation. "And safety and peace, Brother."

"Safety and peace! I'll be back for my next assignment soon!"

Naheem hoped he would be back. It was dangerous out there. But hiding, sneaking and jumping from eagle points was supposed to be basic for getting to know a city. He knew he was not a rafiq but a novice assassin, training in secret. He sat on the stool and rubbed the soreness out of his leg from his morning workout.

When Junayd arrived on the third morning, Naheem again diverted attention away from the back to give Malik peace. They prayed together, adding Altaïr to their prayers. Then they practiced and sparred. Naheem asked Malik for the training journal when he shared lunch with him and quietly talked about what he had been doing pout front. Malik approved of Naheem's various autonomous decisions and allowed Naheem to log his own and Junayd's progress in the training journal.

Three days and there hardly seemed to be any change in Altaïr. They shared care and cleaning. Naheem insisted on rolling Altaïr onto one side or another every six to eight hours. "So he doesn't bruise." Malik hadn't understood why till Naheem explained how long term illnesses and long term bed rest did that and so to avoid it, rolling the patient over was important. He had learned this while caring for his mother. It felt strange teaching his teacher this.

Altaïr's pulse had grown stronger and his breathing steadied over the days. Near the end of the third day, the breathing became erratic, like he was dreaming or having night terrors. His body sweat in waved over the hours of the night. Malik had no clue why and could neither ease Altaïr nor wake him.

The fog thickened. An eagle screamed out. The hard flutter of wing beats caused the fog to roll. Altaïr turned around at each sound. Whispers, a man's and a woman's, grew louder, sounded so familiar. _He's lost. He's drowned. He dug instead of climbed…. He was supposed to fly, soar like a great eagle._ Altaïr gasped as recognition flew to the surface. "Father? Papa!" The memory rose, he was a small boy learning his father's ways of stealth and agility, tumbling acrobatics. His father lifted him high over his head. _My son, my gifted Stephan. Your grace is my joy. You will soar, my son, fly, like the great eagle!_ And then he would hold the boy high over his head as if he were flying. This was a good memory. Altaïr loved the feeling of flying. Leaps of faith were instinct by the time he was eight. "Father?"

A flutter of wings again and Altaïr turned suddenly. "Pigeons? Why are pigeons in the fog with me?" but he saw nothing.

Hidden in the mists a man stretched out on white wing and inspected it critically, then his black wing and gave it equal scrutiny. _Pigeon? I sound like a pigeon?_ The feathers fluffed with indignation before he snapped his wings shut behind him.

Altaïr wandered more in the silence. Calling out sometimes, feeling the emptiness and loneliness of this place. "I thought this was the place for the dead! Am I dead? Who is out there? Aren't souls supposed to speak their truths here before they die? Here's my truth! I love him! He hates me! Take me away! Make it make sense! Is that not the truth?"

The winged man sighed heavily before letting his voice carry through the fog, "Only truth lingers here."

"Nothing is true!" Altaïr yelled back into the fog.

"Truth lingers here, all the answers. You need only ask and the truth will be revealed. You have done this time and again, asking the truth of the souls you have ended. They speak the truth that they know. Truth has many sides and perspectives."

"What if I want to know the truth about me?"

"Ask and ye shall receive."

"What is MY truth? If Malik is right and some things are true, what am I? Who am I? Where do I come from? What happened to me? Why am I still here?"

The ground vanished beneath Altaïr and his stomach jumped into his throat. He was falling. The fog swirled dizzyingly around him making him nauseous. Scenes pricked his eyes and forced their way through the fog of his mind. The truth of all the things of his life surfaced undeniably. His early life with his German family. His father an assassin trying to escape back to Germany because the woman he loved asked him to take her home. Training with his father and pretending to be an acrobatic entertainer for nobles as they spied and made their way to Acre for a boat to take them home. Being met at the docks by other assassins, Al Mualim. Drowning. Executed for their betrayal.

All the good and bad of his life dragged itself to his conscious mind. He screamed and tried not to see, tried to deny. But this was the truth. The beatings, the comforts, the rape, the manipulations. All the things he refused to believe happened to him shown even behind his squeezed shut eyelids. The nightmare relived themselves upon him. They were not dreams. It seemed like endless torment and awareness.

Maybe days passed, Altaïr could not know. Time had no place in this fog.

"Now you know the truth, Great Eagle. You come descended of those who came before. You are gifted. With great power comes great responsibility. I pray you learn from this and know, you are not alone."

But then Altaïr was alone in the now quiet of the fog, soaked in his own sweat, chilled by the icy air, naked as he had entered. He crumpled under the weight of the knowledge. He reached out. "Malik…" he called weakly. "Malik…"

Naheem was drawing by candle light on the space bedroll across from Malik and Altaïr. Altaïr's breathing had changed again and his body again soaked in sweat. As it had been all day, his eyes danced frantically behind his eyelids. "Malik…" came a rasp from Altaïr's throat. Naheem dropped his sketch stick.

"Malik." Naheem called sharply to wake his mentor.

Malik jerked awake afraid maybe Altaïr died while he dozed. He checked for a pulse, his head dropping onto Altaïr's shoulder in sudden relief. Then he checked for fever against the sweat. When Altaïr rasped out Malik's name again, he wrapped himself around Altaïr, hugging him tightly, "I'm here… I'm here, my friend." But still Altaïr did not wake.

Somewhere in the fog, Altaïr heard Malik's reply. "Where are you? MALIK! Malik!" Nothing had made him feel afraid till now. "Malik! Help me!" He felt like he was drowning. The fog closed in on him like water. He gasped. The room came in and out of focus through the fog. A wave of dizziness crashed him back under the foggy water. He was so cold. It was so cold under the water. The memories of all that had had happened to Altaïr dragged him down. He gasped and coughed. He cried out. There was darkness, cold cold darkness. Sounds rushed at him. He cringed away. Warmth held him. He turned into it. He sank into it. He clung to it like a drowning man. He was drowning, drowning in the sobs that rose and would not relent.

* * *

A/N #2 – For Ark and other "intersex" people concerned by my choice of terms for their dual gender nature within my fanfiction.

_First of all, I am especially sensitive to your concerns and found your drastic reaction to my use of the clinical term of hermaphrodite rather overly emotional. I took great care in choosing the term and even consulted someone of intersex to be sure I wasn't being offensive. I also had to use a term appropriate for the era of 1192 in which I was writing. At that time, people born expressing both male and female genitalia were either hidden as dark family secrets, dumped into monasteries to become male treated monks, castrated and put into a nunnery to be raised as a female nun, abandoned, or commonly put to death by the nursemaid as a deformed child. Malik uses the term hermaphrodite which derived from the Greek mythologies of a dual gendered deity (Hermaphroditos, son of Hermes and Aphrodite). It is honorific, not degrading. I am sorry you are overly sensitive and cannot separate your feeling of abuse from an outside world and feel the need to project and assume that I am equally crass and ignorant. If you are so offended, try a different approach of emailing or messaging privately with constructive suggestions for alternative terms before exploding rudely in a public review area._

_Here are some links about this deity:_

_http:/ users .ugent .be /~pdsutter/hermaphroditos%20andere%_

_http:/ www .theoi .com _

_I choose nothing out of ignorance. And neither should you!_


	178. Chapter 178: Hard Decisions

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Thanks to all the reviewers and readers who have helped me and who inspire me. I didn't even expect a readership when I started this. I wrote because a few artists on DA inspired ideas in my head that I had to put into words… now I have a fic. You all keep me writing. I hope to keep you all entertained. This is a LOVELY distraction from homework, but please do your homework first and read as a reward. Or… draw for my fic? *grins hopefully while eyeing the artists reading this*

* * *

Altaïr gasped and coughed. He cried out. There was darkness, cold cold darkness. Sounds rushed at him. He cringed away. Warmth held him. He turned into it. He sank into it. He clung to it like a drowning man. He was drowning, drowning in the sobs that rose and would not relent.

Both Naheem and Malik were wide awake now. Naheem yawned away the remainder of his grogginess as he sat up and sparked a lamp aglow. He wasn't what to do so he just sat cross legged with his blanket wrapped around him, listening to the tragedy of a weak and broken man.

Malik held Altaïr. What else could he do? Altaïr was awake, alive. Altaïr remembered. That was both good and bad. Between the sobs were questions, realization, the need for confirmation. Malik hated to do it, but he did. The yesses to the horrible things continued through the night. Altaïr did not have the strength to do anything but plead for answer after answer, to spill forth everything he remembered, to beg that it not be true. Malik hated to admit that these things were true.

Naheem could stand to hear no more of thing lifelong string of manipulations, rapes and abuse. It explained more than anything he could have wanted to know. It also ran against his own moral codes so strongly he threw off the blanket and ran out of the room. Naheem stood in the cold dark of the main room taking deep breaths against the heart wrenching feelings inside. He hated that such terribly things could happen to a great man in order to control him for some higher mysterious purpose. A great man like Altaïr would have done it without all that. Naheem clenched his hands into fists then over his ears to try to shut out the voices from the back room.

The sobbing and questioning became more broken up with exhaustion till the dizziness dragged Altaïr back into restless sleep. With stump and one arm, Malik cradled his broken friend. He threaded his fingers through Altaïr hair easing him a little. Malik expected there would be more of this to come before anything between them could be discussed. He wondered where Naheem went to, but didn't want to call out.

Naheem did his duties out front as always, though locked up and went off to his drafting class. He needed a new space with new things to think a little more clearly. When he returned, it was only to more of the same truths as last night, though these ones were the nightmarish lingerings of souls whose lives Altaïr took, that each kill haunted him, broke him a little here and there. This was the life of an assassin, to live forever with the ghosts of your dead staining you mind like the blood on your hands. You might be able to wash it away, but you will always know it is there. The harder things to hear were the uncertainty to targets Altaïr thought might actually have been innocent.

Naheem silently helped Malik clean up Altaïr and feed him a little. He was so weak, his eyes rolled as he slipped in and out of dizzy consciousness and dark oblivion. Altaïr struggled to stay awake, could not bear to close his eyes only to see and know more. But he had not the strength even for that.

Malik tried not to fuss over Altaïr, but inside he was frantic for this man in his bed, in his arms. This tore Malik inside as much as witnessing his own brother's death at Robert's hands. _And even though I hated him and blamed him, he stayed with me and cared for me when they cut off my arm, then he took the whole blame for my shames and was stripped of everything._ Malik understood now how much he had taken from Altaïr and how arrogant he himself had been all this time. His fingers carded through Altaïr's hair over and over as his eyes lifted to see Naheem watching them pensively.

"Speak Novice. I can see in you the need to do so." Malik expected another proper toss of sharp words from the novice and knew that he would deserve them.

Naheem almost said Master Malik before he took a second breath and actually spoke, dropping the title entirely. "Malik… I don't want to be an assassin."

It was the last thing he expected out of Naheem; both the drop of his title either of Master or dai and all that followed his name. He raised a brow. "There is no leaving the Order, Naheem."

Naheem took out his sketch book and started to draw a little to keep his hands busy while he expressed his difficult feelings. "I know. I know too much to free me of the Brotherhood. It would mean that I become someone's target as his father was. Maybe that is what my father tried to save me from. Now there is no escape. I get that. I accept that. What I mean is … I don't want to become an assassin, a killer, like both of you. I don't want to be the one taking lives." He sketched the unconscious tenderness Malik expressed toward Altaïr in case he needed to prove to Altaïr how much Malik cared. He expected he might need to later.

In a pause between sketch strokes, "See what it has done to you and to him. You are both tortured, haunted by the kills. Questioning what you have done. Plagued by various nightmares. Both broken by the duty you committed yourselves to. You can't really support and heal others when you are so broken yourself. I never want to be like this. I never want to be in your place, torn apart like this. I never want to be in his place, with his soul ripped up as it is by what he has done…. And what has been done to him. If that is what the training is, I don't want it. I refuse to accept being trained as he was. No one… no one should be treated as he has… and since he was a child. This… Al Mualim… I hate him so much and I have never met him. I'd kill him myself if I could for what he has done. He is the kind of person we assign to be hunted. He is the kind of person we protect innocents from. Who protected Altaïr? He was innocent back then. Now look what this man has done. Ruined not just one life but many. And this is your leader? My leader?"

He slapped his book shut and snapped the charcoal stick. "How can you follow such a corrupt man? And don't even try to justify anything to me. Wrong is wrong. And this… this that has been done to Altaïr, to you, is wrong. I refuse to be part of it. I love you both and would follow you both to my deathbed. But if it comes from that man? That old man in the mountain fort of Masyaf, this Al Mualim… No. I will not do it. Never. I don't want to be one of his assassins, one of his puppets." He hadn't even noticed he was standing and practically yelling with so much deep conviction. He stormed back out to the main room to cool off when he saw Altaïr had tensed into a tight cringing and shaking ball.

Malik let out several slow breaths. So much he might have been able to prevent if only he had acted long ago. "Easy Altaïr. It is alright. Shhhh…" _Naheem is right about many things. We are both broken men. And I took it out on them both. Now Naheem is also a bit broken. Allah, what do I do?_ He bit his lip hard against the verbal curses he wanted to spit out and carefully moved away from Altaïr. He tucked the blankets about Altaïr and even pulled the edge up like a hood over his head before following Naheem out to the main room.

He found the teen sitting on a stool, face buried in his arms over the unfinished map of Arsuf. He rubbed his hand on the teen's back. "I am sorry we have burdened you so much. Sorry that you were not given the free choices all men should have. I will not force you to be an assassin. I will not ask or assign you to kill. I value your cheery innocence too much to taint it with the blood of dying souls. I ask only that you learn to defend yourself in case you must. That you learn the ways of an assassin so you understand those who will come through here. You will be an assassin novice no more. You will be rafiq, apprentice to the dai in truth. And one day, maybe you can replace me here when I retire."

Naheem sit up and hugged Malik. Malik hugged him back.

"Naheem, thank you for being and doing so that I can stay with him. I thought only he had to atone. But you are so right, we both do. I have… much of my own atoning to do. Wrongs I have done to him. I never realized how often I burned the very bridges I was trying to build till now." He lifted the teens face to look him clearly in the eyes. Then pressed his lips to the teen's brow as he had often done for his own younger brother. "Never change, Naheem." He stepped quietly into the back room to rejoin Altaïr for the night.

Naheem stayed up a long while more working on that map.

* * *

A/N #2 – There is one loose set of threads tied a little. Jerusalem will have a rafiq and later a dai when Malik eventually leaves it. One that Malik can truly trust to be there.


	179. Chapter 179: A Hero's Tale

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Going to give you a few Naheem chapters as they are the bridges he is building to help these two men that mean so much to him.

* * *

Then Malik pressed his lips to the teen's brow as he had often done for his own younger brother. "Never change, Naheem." He stepped quietly into the back room to rejoin Altaïr for the night.

Naheem stayed up a long while more working on that map. Hour by hour the relief of his decision washed through him and refreshed him. It had been on his mind often, but he wanted so badly to have his two mentors and saviors be proud of him. He didn't have to feel like he was pressured to get caught up. He could progress at his own pace. He could focus on being as one young assassin had called him, a rafiq. It eased his inner turmoil about dividing himself between the dual training of a rafiq and an assassin. He was not a boy after all but a man now. And as a man he had knowledge he too could share.

Naheem woke the next morning from sleeping on the mostly finished map. Junayd was staring at him from across the counter, trying to see how long he could stare till it unnerved the teen and woke him. "Junayd, go do your prayers and exercises." Naheem's scrunched frown suddenly changed at the sound of Malik's voice behind him and he snapped up so fast he nearly toppled from the stool. "You are wearing the fort district of Arsuf, Naheem. Go wash." Confusion wrinkled across Naheem's face till he saw the smudged ink on the map where his face had been while he slept. With a groan he left to try to scrub the ink from his face.

After collecting a basin, heating water for it and finding wash cloths and towels, the sounds of Malik and Junayd practicing with blade could be heard with small clashes. The first few clashes startled Altaïr, though he failed to be able to sit himself up. Seeing Altaïr awake, Naheem plopped himself down beside him with the basin of water and washing supplies. He scrubbed the ink from his face as he engaged Altaïr's attention. "Junayd's here. I think the world can hear him. Do you know that little bugger stared at me all morning till it felt like torturous little ants were crawling all over my skin? Hey, Altaïr. Did I get all the ink off?"

Golden eyes seemed more alert if not really ready to be truly engaging. They tracked over Naheem's face confused as to why the teen was covered in map lines on one side. "Hmm... I see." Naheem grumbled and scrubbed more. "Now?" Altaïr made a small gesture with his hand on his own chin. Naheem scrubbed the ink line from his chin. "Now?" Altaïr gave the slightest nod. "That brat," complained Naheem as if the ink on his face was caused by Junayd's staring. It coaxed a small huff from Altaïr that Naheem took for a tiny weak chuckle.

Naheem wrinkled his nose at the slow realization of the odor in the room and fetched a clean blanket and some more cloths and towels. "Let's get you out of those sweat soaked and soiled blankets and stuff." He peeled the damp blankets from Altaïr with practiced hands. At the brief shock and splash of faint blush on Altaïr's face at the discovery that he was in giant nappies, Naheem explained, "Easy there. I thought it would be far less humiliating to be in those when you soiled them than to find that you soiled Malik's bed. As one who was injured and who did soil a bed, I wish someone had done this to me. This is less messy." Altaïr just groaned unsure if he felt as Naheem did. He was too weak really to argue about it. And truthfully, Naheem handled this so smoothly that Altaïr didn't feel quite so offended.

Naheem helped lift and shift Altaïr off the damp blanket that was under him and replace it with a dry one. Nappies were changed swiftly with a quick washing. "You'll be up on your feet again very soon, then you can use the waste grill. I am guessing later today even. But I'll put another nappy on you just in case."Naheem kept up a light running commentary about things he had been doing over the last few days, including his hard decision to be a rafiq and not an assassin, "but I still want you to teach me stuff!"

"Why?" rasped Altaïr finally.

Naheem smiled then tried to smother a yawn. He was still tired from his late night and rude waking this morning. Things had quieted outside to soft talking, so Naheem figured the lesson out there became instructions. Malik needed to interact with someone other than Altaïr right now. Junayd, as much as he was a brat as far as Naheem was concerned, was excellent company and an excellent change of pace for the dai. Naheem gingerly climbed over Altaïr to flop on Malik's side of the bed, squeezed between v and the wall. "Let me tell you a story, then may I grab a little nap here with you?" Altaïr nodded, reassured by Naheem's lack of fussing over him. It was a nice feeling to not have someone angry at him, blame him for something, or hate him. Not that Malik had done those things lately, but Malik broke any trust Altaïr might have had in him. Altaïr didn't know how to be around Malik all over again.

Naheem shifted Altaïr over onto his side facing out. "You are heavy and take up too much room." Then he snuggled close, molding himself to Altaïr's back. "Let me tell you a story about a mysterious man who became a great hero. Once upon a time, there was a dark night of the shadows who did dark things all in the name of the greater good. It was a hard and lonely life, especially when he had to secret push away those dearest to him in order to try to save their lives. Fate dealt him a cruel blow, a challenge, and he thought he had lost everything. In one moment he shone as the great hero for saving a whole village from tyranny. In the next its leaders betrayed him and named him a traitor. But even in his darkest days, his heart remained noble and true, an honorable eagle swooping down from high towers to save the lives of innocent peasants wherever he went."

Naheem stretched a moment to get more comfortable then continued his tale. Outside the back room, just on the other side of the curtain, Junayd opened his mouth to ask who Naheem was talking about. Malik clamped his hand over the boy's mouth. They would listen till the story ended before getting breakfast. "This great man changed his ways, determined to show he was not a traitor. He let his heart chine so bright that his dark clothes changed into shining white ones. When he leapt from towers to defend the weak, you could swear the eagle cried out and the flutter of wings beat loudly before the flash of steel freed those in danger. But he remained a lonely eagle with no mate. Trying to rekindle his friendship with another great man, he flew in the night on an errand, a mission, to save a small boy. Another act of his heroism done in the quiet where he thought it was unknown. The boy remembers though and tells all who will listen… sometimes so often I want to strangle the little brat to shut him up." Naheem chuckled. Altaïr softly chuckled too.

"Then one day, out on the long dusty roads, he traveled between cities. He didn't have to stop. A small army busily fought to eliminate two men. Two men against twenty. He didn't need to stop. He was out matched and out numbered. It was not his fight. But he stopped anyways. He stepped in. And although he could not save both men, he managed to save one. Forever will he be this man's hero. Altaïr, Forever will you be my hero… and my family." Altaïr turned his face into the pillow a moment. He grabbed Naheem's hand and hugged that arm to him. Naheem hugged him back. "Nap with me, great hero." Naheem nuzzled the back of Altaïr's neck and closed his eyes.

Malik fiercely whispered to Junayd that he should go home. The boy almost protested till he saw the shimmering wetness in Malik's eyes. Junayd gave Malik a quick hug and whispered, "I'll be back again in a few days. You are both my heroes, master Malik." Then he flitted off and out the roof opening. Malik turned his attention to trying to salvage the slightly smeared map of Arsuf as a means to settle the wobbliness in the pit of his stomach and the lump in his throat. He decided he would stay out here and let Naheem spend the day with Altaïr.


	180. Chapter 180: Naheem's Support

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Sat in a hospital recently and was inspired. I totally stole the techniques of an orderly for how Naheem is handling Altaïr.

A/N #2 – my beta editor has plowed through a bunch of chapters. If you go way back into the beginning of this fic, you will see that I am making some small changes (spelling and context and some fixing of references based on further research or the help of reviewers). No longer calling the little roof box things Altaïr hides in souks. Oops! That is getting fixed. And will make language corrections as I get to them. This is not a fast process. She edits my grammar and dyslexic moments. Then I edit the other stuff. It is a process. She is credited at the end of each chapter. Also, edited chapters will likely have the A/N's edited out except for the pic references or footnotes. So, if the new chapters come up slower than you are used to, it is because I am trying to get the older ones in edited form up. Don't worry, new chapters will still come. (grr... Candian/American spelling differences are so frustrating!)

* * *

Malik turned his attention to trying to salvage the slightly smeared map of Arsuf as a means to settle the wobbliness in the pit of his stomach and the lump in his throat. He decided he would stay out here and let Naheem spend the day with Altaïr. He didn't want to be far and wished he could be present for this first really lucid moment of Altaïr's, but the more lucid Altaïr became the more he shrank away from Malik. Peaking in on Naheem asleep with Altaïr, he felt that jealousy burn a little inside, but suppressed it. Naheem was not in love with Altaïr nor the other way around. It was friendship, brotherly friendship.

He explored the log books to see what Naheem had been up to these past five days and what the rest of the world had been up to as well. The logging was decent, though Malik wanted more detail to the reporting. Naheem didn't yet know the questions to ask. The assignment to the newest arrival in Jerusalem was smart, and mostly safe. Malik was proud of Naheem's efforts. The map, however, was unsalvageable. Arsuf would need to be remapped. He thought about redoing it himself, but that would not teach anything.

Malik had to grudgingly admit some of Naheem's care ideas were truly brilliant, if humiliating a little. Nappies, on grown men. At least Malik's bed was no longer being soiled. He made note to get more suitable fabric for that very purpose, as well as more bandaging linens. He debated taking the errand himself but could not bring himself to leave the Bureau, nor could he will himself to ask Naheem to do so. By tomorrow, though, one of them will have to.

Altaïr would sleep lots as he healed. That was as per usual. At least it was sleep and not the stupor and unconsciousness of blood loss. Altaïr was starting to regain some color. Naheem woke with a growling stomach from his little nap. He sat up and made to leave the bed when Altaïr's hand gripped his tightly and would not let him go. "I am hungry and you need to let me get food. I am sure you are hungry too. I'll bring breakfast back for us." Reluctantly, Altaïr released him. Naheem stretched and stood and stepped over Altaïr.

He stopped, standing straddled over the prone assassin. "Can you sit up?" Altaïr rolled onto his back but could not manage more. Naheem crouched; taking Altaïr left (wounded) hand. "Grip my tunic, like that. Other arm, around my shoulders. Ok, hold tight." Naheem wrapped his arms expertly around Altaïr and lifted him to sitting, then shoved some pillows behind so Altaïr could lean against them. "Back soon. And I promise not to sneak bananas into breakfast this time, though… you seemed to like them in my flat cakes. Don't tell Malik I cook so well. He'll make me cook all the time." Naheem had already wandered to the little kitchen and started food while he was talking.

Malik smirked while making some adjustments to the main log and writing notes for message birds to Master Al Mualim. At the volume Naheem was speaking, the teen must know that Malik heard him. It was still amusing. He had been noticing that Naheem was not so bad at cooking after all and wondered why he pretended to be. But maybe it was just that, he didn't want to be the only one cooking. He lit his incense and changed position to read so he could peak through a crack he made in the curtain. Was it wrong to spy thus?

Naheem set a slightly steaming bowl in Altaïr's lap, then took one out to Malik, silently setting it on the counter next to the log book before returning in back. Altaïr had crossed his legs and held the bowl debating his coordination. Naheem read the expression as he sat cross legged in front of Altaïr. "If you think you're going to spill it, I'll do it this time. We just got cleaned up. I don't want to change things again so soon." Altaïr relented to Naheem's ministrations.

Malik listened to the ease of Naheem's conversation.

"So, since I was thin king about how bratty Junayd can be sometime with the things he likes to do for fun, it got me wondering." He spooned hot cereal into Altaïr as he talked. "What did you do for fun as a kid? And don't tell me training."

A soft chuckle escaped Altaïr between spoonfuls. He had to think though. Malik did too, wondering what Altaïr considered fun and wondering why Naheem was asking. After deep pondering, Altaïr's deep baritone voice answered in a rough whisper, an improvement to the rasps. "Crow's tag." Malik slapped his hand in his face, forgetting he had an ink brush in it.

"Crow's tag?" asked Naheem, spooning more into Altaïr.

Altaïr nodded. "Crow's tag. Running tag along the cliff side parapets of the fort. A misstep meant you fell and became food for the crows."

"That is INSANE!" Naheem burst out.

"That was fun," replied Altaïr quietly with a slight smile. "And… tipping Malik's incense pot while he was studying."

This time Naheem laughed. They both did. The chatter was light like that for an hour while Naheem asked all sorts of things about Altaïr's early life.

Then it dawned on Malik what Naheem was doing. This novice was raising their patient's morale, making him dig through the bad memories for the good ones and bringing them to the surface so they act like a natural salve to heal the wounds of trauma. Malik wondered where Naheem had learned this and thanked Allah yet again for the blessing of this novice in their lives. He peaked through the crack to secretly relish that rare smile and soft deep chuckle. He wanted to be part of this conversation, but felt he should not invade the moment. Maybe next time.

"Oh crap," complained Naheem, "Here we are nattering like hens and you ate the whole bowl. We were supposed to share it. Oops." Naheem sighed. Malik wondered if the whole thing was honest or a ploy. Naheem retrieved a second bowl and inhaled it while he let Altaïr look through some of the drawing he had done over the last five days. "Thass frm ma draffin class," he mumbled with a mouth full of cooling cereal. At the baffled look in the golden eyes, he repeated after swallowing, "From my drafting class. I think you're better at the technical drawings. Where did you put that one of the right hand hidden blade? It was really good."

"It was flawed. I'll keep working on it." Malik felt glued to the roughened voice.

"Why design one? We already have a left hand one." Naheem commented.

"Not everyone can use it well or at all. Some need one for the right hand." Malik felt like he heard a secret from Altaïr that he should not have. Malik wondered if Altaïr was trying to design it for him, but then shook the possibility from his mind. It was a selfish thought.

Naheem washed up everything and claimed even Malik's bowl. He gave Malik a quick grin and slipped back to the back room. Malik was sure it was full of some kind of mischief, but Naheem was not really the mischievous type. Maybe it was some kind of secret or surprise. As it was, everything Malik was witnessing was a surprise, a pleasant surprise.

Naheem then stood straddling over Altaïr, "Feel like trying to stand? Maybe get you to the waste grill and then into real clothes?" He again had Altaïr hold him as before and hugged him around the chest. With a deep breath and a hard grunt, Naheem stood. "Fuck! You are heavy!" It burned in his leg scar. Altaïr soon steadied and could stand, though not without support. His cheeks burned to see himself with the nappies. Naheem adjusted his hold and they slowly walked to the little kitchen. With remarkably deft fingers, Naheem removed the nappy and braced himself till Altaïr was sitting over the waste grill.

Now, since Malik could not see them, he stepped into the back to tidy the room a little and lay out a new uniform on the bed for Altaïr. He silently removed himself again before discovery. He stood behind the curtain in the main room to listen.

Naheem paused when he saw the tidied room and the uniform. He smiled to himself knowing Malik must have done this. He brought in the uniform. "Sometimes the two of you are so frustrating." He picked up the habit of rolling his eyes from Malik. As he helped Altaïr to dress they talked about apologies and words. "Some words just need to be said. Words like… I love you, you are great or did a great job, and I am sorry. I know they are sometimes hard to say… even for those who rely on words and say lots. But these are important words and hearing them out loud helps them be more real."

"But what will my I'm sorry accomplish?" asked Altaïr as he pressed his hands to the walls to keep from falling over as Naheem dressed him.

"Expressing that it is how you feel. I bet he is too… and just as scared to say it." Naheem crossed his arms at the scowl he received from Altaïr for his implication that either Malik or Altaïr were afraid. "People just need to know that this did something right, are cared for or thought of as important enough for you to express yourself to. It is really hard going for months and never hearing these things or never really knowing for sure." Then Naheem's widened and he made a wild grab for Altaïr. "I try to tell people they have done well or that they are amazing sometimes. It feels good to hear it. You're the only one other than my mother who said I did well. You don't dole it out often, but you do for me. It let me know I am on the right track so I don't feel like I am totally floundering."

Malik winced to himself. He never really tells people they have done well, least of all Altaïr. He maybe told the assassin he did well only a couple times and it was soon followed by caveats or something negative. And he didn't think he had ever told Naheem that the teen was great in all the time he had been here. Malik made some grudging mental notes that he needed to change that.

The room suddenly became suffocatingly hot then icy cold and then full of black spots. Altaïr flailed with the distant though that he was swooning about to faint and how humiliating it was and how totally helpless he was to do anything about it. Naheem caught him and sat him down again. "Deep breaths, slow. You're doing great."

As they managed to slowly make their way back to the bed, Altaïr felt better. Lying down didn't give him the light headed, embarrassing fainting feeling.

Naheem left Altaïr to rest while he wandered out to see what Malik was doing. He had barely gotten past the curtain when Malik confronted him. "Where … how… where did you learn to be how you were in there, with Altaïr?"

It was a very loaded set of queries. Naheem expected them though. He blushed to his ears. "I guess I did something right?"

"Yes," Malik conceded gently, "You did a great many things right. But how?"

"I told you my mother was very ill. She was ill for a long while. I learned to care for her. My father had sent a doctor for her, a man named Faruq. He showed me. It helped my mom's spirits to be up and to feel less like an invalid. Why treat someone like they are sick and dying? It only reinforces the feeling and might worsen them. So, you do things to help them feel as normal as possible. It was the first act from my father, beyond ensuring my education that told me he cared about us." Naheem scuffed a toe on the floor. He missed his mother deeply, and in a way his father/mentor, too. "Thanks, though. I hope it all helps him. You are both my family now. I don't want to see it get any smaller."

"It won't, as best as we can manage." Malik stepped past Naheem now too eager to see Altaïr alert, only to find him once again in the sleep of a man healing. He sighed and took up a book to read while sitting with Altaïr.

* * *

A/N #3 – How to handle the fiasco... well bloody hell... I am far from diplomatic enough to do this well...

Rereading my redress, I saw a critical typo where I missed the _n't_ on _wasn't_ which changes much of the sense of my redress. I deeply apologize for my stupid fast typing that got ahead of my thoughts and may have offended anyone. That was a quick fix. It reads correctly now. I thank the reviewer who privately pointed it out and my desk for accepting the thunks my head gave it as I headdesked a lot.

I wish to formally apologize to those offended by my somewhat rash (Malik-like) response to negative criticism. Let this advice hopefully be heard by all. When having a bad day yourself, do not react and post something in frustrated defensiveness. I guarantee that somehow you will look like an ass (or "cunt" as I have recently been called). I wish reviewers who take serious issue with something would email me so we may discuss it without making public childish scenes on all our parts. I accept the public slap for my indiscretion.

I removed Ark's ch-176 review that was posted only because s/he double posted the exact same review from ch-168 (which is still there for all to read). The exact same thing (copy-pasted) didn't need to be there twice.

Yes, there are historical inaccuracies in my fic. I am human and imperfect. Several errors I have corrected (or am working on correcting in the re-editing and they are slowly going up… I think I have the first 5 edited chapters up now). I am not perfect at my research but try what I can. Some errors in history I apologized for but chose to leave because of creative personal license so to speak. It is a fanfic and it is mine and I may write it how I like and I encourage people to write how they like (historically accurate or no) in theirs. Some reviewers, even the harsh ones, have suggested some books to read on the era or a different culture's perspective of the crusades at that time (reading about the crusades from the Muslim perspective, for example). I have recently come into possession of them to do just that. Read them and see if I can try to be a little closer to history or not.

I did go to the link offered me. It is a fascinating chat board listing a great many links to art and fics, though I do not usually follow it and didn't even think people cared enough about my fic to bother with it anywhere else. If feels I should not be posting my fic here, or if people feel they need to report it or that it needs to move to , then I shall. I may anyways as I get the editing done. However, I find too much of to be just smut-fics and not enough story. I don't think there is enough smut in my fic for though.

This is the last commentary I will do as an A/N to any anon's review. Read my fic and enjoy or don't as you choose. If you wish to see changes, suggest them don't bash. Also, understand that it may take time for me to get back to chapters to make those corrections. I simply need to get the ideas out of my head and people want to read them as they come. Otherwise, I would not be posting more than once a month. Also, I do this on the side to break the tension of a very stressful overloaded plate of obligations. Some people play video games, some play music, some draw, I write.

Have a wonderful life everyone. I will try not to behave like an irritable Malik in the future.


	181. Chapter 181: Altair's Templar Dream

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Art inspired and comment inspired where the artist suggested to me "If I were a more talented writer I would totally write fic for it. It could be done as an AU or maybe make it a delusion/nightmare of Altair's. So many possibilities! :3"

http:/ worsel .deviantart .com /art/And-I-m-Haunted- 184129908

* * *

"It won't, as best as we can manage." Malik stepped past Naheem now too eager to see Altaïr alert, only to find him once again in the sleep of a man healing. He sighed and took up a book to read while sitting with Altaïr.

Sleeping, healing, dreaming. Altaïr didn't mind the first two, although he always felt guilty by them. They meant he was being useless, a lump, wasting time and space usually in a place he was unwanted in, like Malik's bed. The dreaming… he wished would not happen. He never really just dreamed. Normal people dreamed. Normal people had fantastical visions that were fun, silly, happy, arousing. Altaïr's never were any of those things… not for long anyways.

_Everything ached. Altaïr shook the disorientation from his head and wondered how long he had been out. Hours likely. It was quiet. The rubble blocked his way back to Malik and Kadar. Had Robert killed them? He was sure he had heard the death cries of Kadar and Malik's anguished yell for his little brother before the darkness from his concussion swallowed his consciousness. _

_Drugs can control a man's thoughts and actions, but look upon this apple, this treasure. The one who possesses it may do the same to those who then look upon it. So what if it is just a ball of metal Altaïr. The power it has must not remain in Robert's hands._

_The treasure!_

_Altaïr pounded and pounded his fists on the stone and wood rubble till they bled. He tried moving them, but they were too heavy. "MALIK!" No one answered. He waited a count of one hundred and resigned himself to seeking another way out, hoping there was one and that he was not sealed in till the air ran out. Screaming and fighting would only use up precious air. He rushed forward to a hint of light. After a couple bruising failed attempts to desperately climb dilapidated scaffolding, he finally made it through the opening. Fresh air was good. Sunlight was great. The loss of Kadar and Malik darkened any possibility of relief. _

_He would have to either wind his way back around this mountainous section to try to find his horse, or make his way on foot outward till he could acquire a new horse. The mission was a failure. How could it have succeeded anyways? Kadar was a novice, not even ready for solo missions, let alone be on one this important or dangerous. Malik, forgot to trust him long ago and his anger stung like a scorpion. But, Altaïr still loved him, still cared, still hoped. He had done so much to keep Malik safe and out of this questionable mission work._

_In the distance, Altaïr could see the Templars riding out, in the direction of Masyaf. NO! He burst into a run._

_A Templar stepped stealthily out from some brush, a lithe figure of dark hair, tanned skin and charcoal eyes. An assassin's hidden blade snapped out through the missing left finger and back. The chainmail made small chink noises. Altaïr skidded to a halt, dust rising around his feet. "Malik?" _

"_I hunt for Robert now."_

"_What? Malik!" Altaïr could say no more. He had to defend himself from a man he knew could take him down. He didn't want to hurt Malik, didn't want to kill him. He blocked a roundhouse kick with his forearm. Fists flew. Altaïr dodged. A blow rocked his balance. A sweep took out his footing. He rolled and kicked back. "Malik stop!" Templar Malik kept going. This could not be true, but the treasure… Robert must have used it on him. "No! Malik!" He rolled out of the way again, punching back. "Don't!" Malik drew his sword._

Malik doubled from the punch to the gut he took while trying to shake Altaïr from this nightmare, whatever it was. Altaïr yelled and rolled away, scrambled back and over the second bedroll.

_Altaïr kicked and flailed in his defense._

Altaïr kicked and flailed defensively. Malik easily deflected the weakened blows, though the first had caught him unawares. Naheem jumped into the room and held the doorway's curtain in a white-knuckled fist. He knew better now than to get in the middle.

"No! Don't! Don't touch me! NO!" Altaïr yelled hoarsely. He backed into the wall with a thud. The room came into focus too slowly. Stabbing pain pricked his forearm, the blood from pulled stitched dotted the bandaging. His chest heaved. He glared warily at Malik. Comprehension not yet caught up with reality. Malik knelt before him. Where was his Templar chainmail? Where was his left arm? Naheem took a careful step closer and froze as the golden eyes snapped to him. _Naheem? Wait… The Bureau._ He looked back to Malik. _He's the dai now, and the loss was my fault. No… not my fault. But I should have stopped them._ He raised his right hand toward Malik's left stump of an arm, wanting to touch it to affirm reality and banish the dream of a Templar Malik trying to kill him.

In a gesture of trust, Malik closed his eyes and dipped his head. He would not move, allowing Altaïr to touch him, to touch the stump.

Altaïr's hand fisted and pulled back. "How dare you." _How dare you offer trust now. How can you trust me?_ He wanted to say it out loud but the words caught in his throat. "How can I tr… How? You never wanted me to." He clenched both fists and hissed at the sudden pain through the left forearm.

Malik ground his teeth, charcoal eyes burning through Altaïr. He gestured to Altaïr's sliced and bandaged arm, gestured to the blood seeping through from torn stitches, and lost his temper. "How dare? You impulsive… arrogant… foolish…"

"Malik," Naheem's called cautiously warning.

Malik swallowed the remaining words, rose and shoved Naheem out of the room, holding the teen's tunic in a shaking fist. Naheem dared whisper back. "Great… after all this morning… you… impulsive, arrogant, foolish. How is that going to go over?" The hurt and realization flashed clearly now in his face. He let go of the tunic and covered his eyes. Naheem straightened his tunic. "Malik," he tried to find reassuring words. A strange sound, like a door banging shut cut off his thoughts. Malik threw himself into the back room.

Altaïr was gone.

* * *

A/N #2 – So much drama. I am too tired and overloaded in life to deal with drama. I am not a bigot nor advocate the actions. i took offense to being called one (even if I was ignorantly being so). I felt bashed in my own writing for something that is supposed to be fun and fantasy. I appreciate the people who were brave and weathered the various criticisms on both sides of the debate and really wish I could have a whole forum talk about these issues, if for no other reason than to educate folks. Did anyone realize Spirit Day happened and what it meant? Anyways, there are only so many times I can say sorry before it feels like people are actually being bullies. If i were a younger person trying my hand at writing, this explosion would have killed my confidence to ever try my hand at creative writing again. I pray this never happens to other people. Someone suggested to me to disable anon reviewing. I said no because too many anons have amazing ideas, comments, and constructive criticism. The debate is over as far as I am concerned. And so true. I don't know why I am getting bent out of shape about a character that is a side character of a side character. Did that make sense? On a totally other note... A couple folks reviewed spotting my drop of Faruq's name… again. I squeed out loud! YAY! People noticed! The guy may be dead, but he has a huge impact on Malik's life still.


	182. Chapter 182: Malik Holds On

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Sorry for the place holder before.

* * *

Malik threw himself into the back room. Altaïr was gone.

Malik felt like he swallowed a chunk of mountain ice covered in razor blades. He was so used to chastising, snapping out venomous caustic words that he let his temper slide back into that habit when he needed above all else to not. The notion of begging for forgiveness though irked him too much. Maybe Naheem was right. He was just as impulsive, arrogant and foolish as he had called Altaïr.

He took a couple deep breaths and knew Altaïr had left through the attic door for the roof. He was too weak, he could not have gotten far. Malik turned to Naheem's scowling distressed face, "I'll fix this," he promised. He climbed the stairs wondering what the hell Altaïr had dreamed to cause that sudden outburst. It must have been terrible. Or it was a memory of what Malik had recently done. He winced at the top of the stairs. Fighting was so much easier than this.

The door was poorly closed. Malik wanted to pull out his hair, and yet prayed Altaïr was there. This inner battle had been his since he became dai. While he was no longer blaming Altaïr, he was still angry by so many things, and feeling alone in all that. He opened the door fully but saw no Altaïr. The sun shone brightly overhead as it was near noon or a little after. He stepped onto the hot stones of the roof.

In the narrow slice of shade sat Altaïr.

Malik stood stock still, not wanting to spook the wounded eagle into flight. Altaïr just sat. His left arm lying in his lap as the finger of his right hand lightly poked or picked at the blood dotted bandages. Naheem had inch-wormed his way up the stairs to spy.

Malik knelt then sat in the hot sun in front of Altaïr. He didn't mind the sun. It warmed his back. Altaïr looked so pale, especially when Malik reached forward with a tanned hand. Altaïr flinched. So did Malik. In a leap of faith, Malik took Altaïr's left hand. He wished he had two hands to push back the hood, though he could feel those golden eyes on him. "I… I'm sorry for my harsh words." The exertion of will to say that had drawn sweat onto Malik's back. He decided to blame the hot sun for that. Altaïr's fingers closed around Malik's hand. Malik's heart and stomach both flipped over inside him. They sat like that in silence together.

"Altaïr, let's go inside. I would like to fix that wound."

Altaïr shook his head.

"No? Altaïr…"

Altaïr shook his head again, "No, I can't" his fingers tightened on Malik's hand, though the grip couldly be called a grip for how weak it was.

"Why not?"

"I'll fall." The words tumbled tiredly from him. "I don't want to fall."

Malik then realized Altaïr had spent want little energy he had to get there and thus could not physically manage getting down on his own. Something came to Malik's mind. A memory. At the time he had been so annoyed but later in life he had laughed about it, sometimes at Altaïr's expense. Taking a page from Naheem's lessons book on patient care, that memory could help now. "Altaïr? Do you remember when we ran through the lower part of the fort and you bolted around a corner and fell in the water reservoir?"

Altaïr shuddered. He remembered. He was so scared he'd drown.

"I held you. I held you a long long time till someone came to help. I didn't let go or let you fall." He leaned a little to try to see into the shadow of Altaïr's hood. "Altaïr, I won't let you fall."

Altaïr lifted his head. Malik begged for a little trust, begged with his own charcoal eyes. "I wanted some fresh air and sun," Altaïr whispered. "My dream… it was not real… but it…" He couldn't voice it, brows furrowing.

"We can sit under the lattice and and get some sun there. I can rebandage your arm… and we could talk about your dream." Malik almost sighed out loud with relief at Altaïr's final nod.

Naheem quietly yipped and wriggled down the stairs as fast as he could.

It was awkward, and difficult. Malik had managed moving Altaïr down these stairs before when the assassin dropped from injuries on the roof. He totally felt it was easier to drag an unconscious assassin than manhandle and conscious one who had little coordination. Naheem neatly stepped in on Altaïr's other side at the bottom of the stairs. Altaïr grumped about the help, cheeks reddening. However, once on the carpet among the cushions with Malik, Naheem beat a hasty retreat to make lunch for them, and give them time.

Malik brought over his medical kit and the basin in a few short trips. He unbandaged and cleaned the long red stitched line from the inside of Altaïr's left elbow straight down to the inside of his left wrist. There were several torn and popped stitched where tensed muscles or a flailing had opened them. To distract, Malik asked about the dream that drove Altaïr into such a panic.

"I dreamed you were a Templar."

* * *

A/N #2 – Art that inspired this chapter: http:/ yaoi .y-gallery .net/view/ 696574/

A/N #3 – I wrote so much that I lost something important in a chapter. Maybe one of you has a better memory than I (whose memory is sometimes like a sieve). The informant family with the aviary, the little girl, and the now pregnant wife… what was the name I gave to the little girl? Does anyone remember? Does anyone know which darned chapter I posted it in? I guess this qualifies as a spoiler that the little girl has a bigger role at some point. Alas.

A/N #4 – I could not sleep. I debated writing some other fic (fanfic based off of Brent Weeks' Night Angel trilogy). I tried reading some homework (history of contemporary paganism is as dry as any other history) … (and I am too tired to understand the complicated translations of Taoist sexual practices as a meditative techniques for cultivating immortality through inner alchemy). So you get a chapter.


	183. Chapter 183: Altair's Brief Touch

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – oops… lost track of the pattern of odd numbered chapters being Altair's perspective and even numbered ones being Malik's perspective. This one, like last one will be a little of both while I fight the pattern back into place. I am trying to write it back and forth on purpose as a personal challenge. I read some stories written like that and am trying to emulate. It is bloody difficult sometimes though.

* * *

"I dreamed you were a Templar." The needle could have hit the floor and been heard a block away with the silence that dropped after Altair's words.

Malik sputtered, "Templar? What? Me? A Templar?"

Altair's hood bobbed.

"Altair, I would never, you hear me, never ever turn coat and become a Templar." Malik finished the last stitch and salved the wound. He set aside the needle and salve jar, taking up a fresh roll of bandaging gauze.

Altair's deep voice tried to explain, "I don't think you did so by choice. I dreamed we were back in Solomon's Temple trying to get the Apple of Eden, that ball Master called the Treasure."

Malik visible winced away from Altair at the memory and the loss of his brother Kadar rose to freshly ache in his chest. His fist clenched around a strip of the bandaging as he wrestled his emotions back into place. He heard movement from Altair, but was not ready to open his eyes. A hesitant hand rested lightly on his knee. He opened his eyes, about to swat the hand aside.

Altair's hand remained on Malik's knee. The hood had been pushed back enough to expose his face. Concern filled the golden eyes that now searched Malik's face. As Malik's eyes met Altair's, the hand retracted expecting to be swatted. Malik continued to gaze back, surprised by all of Altair's gestures.

Naheem grinned to himself overly proud of the victory he felt had much to do with himself. The two mentors were talking. They were not yelling. They were not fighting. There would be no blood, beyond the little involved in the stitching. They were talking, with each other. Naheem added some spices to the soup he was making. Yesterday's butternut squash mashed with over-boiled carrots and cream with spices would make a good soup for lunch, and excellent for supper with sliced meat sandwiches. He guessed after this, his secret that he was actually good at cooking would be revealed, but he felt that a true reward for the day was in order.

Altair shied from Malik's unshaking gaze. Malik reached up and pushed the hood the rest of the way off Altair's head. Altair flinched slightly, but did not pull it back up. Malik began to bandage Altair's arm. "Tell me. In your dream, what happened?" Malik was ready to hear, even if it was a detailed recounting of Kadar's death.

Altair cleared his throat. "I was trapped behind the rubble. I had heard the fighting and blacked out. I must have had a concussion. When I came to, there was silence. I banged on the stones and wood. I tried to push and pull them, but they would not move. I sought another way out. When I climbed out, I saw Robert and his men riding off toward Masyaf. Then you stepped out, dressed all in chainmail. A Templar tabard on. You still had both… both your arms. Your sword at your hip. Your hidden blade ready to take me. Coiled around your left hand was a chain with a cross hanging from it. You told me that you now hunted for Robert. He had stolen your will and coerced you to do his bidding."

"And that meant I was ordered to kill you," Malik finished for Altair seeing now how Altair had panicked. "I don't understand how he could possibly have coerced me like that."

"He used the treasure."

Malik gave Altair an odd confused look.

"Remember my mission in Acre, with the Hospitalier?" Malik nodded and Altair continued. "He had brainwashed men and women into being guards and soldiers. He tested drugs of coercion on the maddened, poor, and desperate. He was doing this because they had lost the Treasure to us. This is why we guard it from them. When they speak of God's Flock, they mean mindless sheep, coerced by whatever means with no free will. He used drugs. But according to the Master, the treasure can do so, only better. In the wrong hands, someone can use it to strip away the free will of another. The other need only look upon it and be commanded by the one holding it. Better hidden in our fortress than in the hands of Templars."

Malik had to agree. "You looked upon it!" He remembered one of Altair's journal entries.

"I did. I angered the Master by challenging him and doubting this metal ball's sorcery. He tried to use it on me. But it doesn't work on me for some strange reason. Maybe it is broken. Or doesn't do as Master thinks, though he was so sure." Altair shrugged.

Malik instantly deduced that of course Altair would be so stupid and foolish as to challenge the Grand Master Al Mualim, and of course Al Mualim would try to control Altair. And of course That sorcery would not work on Altair. Altair was not like other humans. Malik considered him to be a little like Hercules or Perseus, heroes with a hint of maybe some sort of divine blood. Though, Altair was maybe more like Perseus, a reluctant hero, or anti-hero. Both Perseus and Altair simply wanted to be considered normal humans and have normal human lives.

Malik tied off the bandage with the help of his teeth to replace the hand he did not have. Doing this was so common now that Malik had not considered how ridiculous it might have looked, now how compromising.

A shudder ran down Altair's spine at Malik's breath and lips at his wrist. Color rose to Altair's cheeks. He turned his hand slightly and his fingers brushed the edge of Malik's chin hair. Color flashed up Malik's ears. The two almost sprang apart like water-doused cats. Altair pulled his hood up ashamed that he had dared touch Malik. He knew Malik didn't want that kind of touch from him. Malik had told him so a while ago.

Malik gathered his wits and composure then came close to Altair again. He narrowed his eyes annoyed at the hiding in the hood and pushed the hood off. Altair looked suitably stunned. "You are scruffy and unkept. I think you are steady enough to shave yourself, Altair."

Altair gaped but could say nothing to Malik's now retreating back.

* * *

A/N #2 – Hints of fluff. Happy Halloween!


	184. Chapter 184: Malik's Chaotic Thoughts

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Testing something out. Made a website for what will eventually be the final edited version of the fic. It is still under construction and kinda buggy… and uber simple. But I am proud of the efforts I have managed with the use of MS-Word as my lame-ass web designing tool… not that it is that, but it is all I have.

http:/ www .mtl-magicalcircle .ca/ assassincreed/ animus .html

* * *

Altair gaped but could say nothing to Malik's now retreating back.

A million thoughts must have flown through Altair's mind at Malik's gesture and last comment before the dai walked away. An equal amount flew through Malik's mind in the several steps he took from Altair to the counter's gate. He could hardly keep up with the barrage as he maintained control over his exposure and hid behind his own hood with his mildly aggressive words.

_What the hell was I thinking! Tying that knot at his wrist with my bloody teeth! I should have asked for his assistance._

_He touched me! Allah help me. I wanted it. I didn't expect it. He caught me completely off guard. GHARRK! Get the feeling out of my head! I need to be focused!_

_What were we talking about?_

_Templar treasure, right the Apple of Eden. It can control men's minds better than the coercion drugs from the Hospitalier? Did Al Mualim actually try to use it on Altair? What if he tries it on others? No… he would never do that. He is protecting it from the abuse of the Templars. _

_Altair touched me. Can we build trust between us again? Is that even possible? Or will I become just the new crutch? _

_Am I insane? I just told him he'll have to shave himself. Give him a straight razor? Am I mad? After what he did to himself? Can I trust him with a blade? Any blade?_

He stopped his steps before the curtain when he suddenly realized it looked different. It no longer showed the illusion of a fake wall, but was a heavy decorative woven fabric. He pushed it aside and stepped in back completely confused. Naheem smiled at him as he crumpled the old curtain and dropped it in the basket of other things to wash.

"It is blood stained and dusty and smells bad like… well it smells bad. I'm going to wash it. Besides, too many have already seen the going back and forth through it. There really is no point anymore for the deception." Naheem watched Malik frown. "Are you really going to let him shave himself? He was so shaky getting down the stairs…"

Malik shook the confusion from his head. "Ask me before you change my Bureau next time. And yes, I am going to let him shave himself. I'll be there watching, just in case." _In case he tries to slit his own throat on purpose._

"It was good to see you two just talking." Naheem filled a spoon from a pot on the little wood stove. He made a disgusted face. "I need to get some milk to add to this and some more spices. May I go to the market? Will you be alright while I am out?"

Malik regarded the concoction on a slow bubble in the large pot with great skepticism. He made a gesture of permission with his hand. Naheem grinned and moved the pot from the stove so it would not scald on the bottom. He gathered his own robes and a little bit of coin, oh and his sketchbook! "Naheem! Don't be gone past sunset." Malik knew Naheem would sit in the market to draw all day. "And don't forget what you went out for!" Naheem was already out the door.

Malik would be alone with Altair now for the afternoon. He made some sandwiches for lunch and the basin and razor and cloth for shaving. By the time he had brought everything out to the main room, he saw Altair had curled up among the pillows fast asleep.

_We expect so much from each other. Maybe we expect too much? How will I help him? How can I help unravel the chaos of the things he knows and has seen to find the kernel of truth and puzzle out who the traitor is among us? How could Naheem ever understand the challenges a Grand Master must face leading the Order of the Assassins. Naheem sketches Al Mualim as the traitor. He just doesn't understand. If only I were in Masyaf, I could figure it out. I could see for myself. But I am here. I am alone in this mystery with only one source of information from a man who knows little of being an informant._

He watched the remarkably peaceful slumber of the assassin as he thought to himself. Then it hit him. He smacked his hand to his brow.

_I am not alone in this. He is not my only source of information!_

Malik drafted a letter to both the dai of Acre and of Damascus. While he did not like the dai of Damascus, and was determined to take issue with him later, he needed information now. He changed the flags and called for informants.

Later in the afternoon, a few showed and he bade them be quite. "I am charging you with these important missions. Take these letters and deliver them by hand. Return swiftly with news. I need to know everything possible about Altair's missions. They hold the clues and keys to the success of the coming mission." Malik already had some documents from the dai of Acre, but he needed the more recent ones. "I trust you with this and you alone. Be careful my friends."

"Safety and peace, Malik. We will fly like eagles."

He later poked at the odd soupy concoction of Naheem's. He tasted it and wrinkled his face. Malik felt this was a waste of the perfectly good carrots and squash. Naheem had better know what he was doing. He sat with Altair and woke him gently. "Altair, Altair. Here, you need to eat something. You can shave after."

Golden eyes blinked open and took in the room as warily as any uncertain wild eagle. Seeing only Malik and food, Altair sat up and silently accepted the proffered food.

* * *

A/N #2 – Since we hadn't seen the inside of Malik's thoughts for a while, I thought this chapter was more than due.


	185. Chapter 185: Altair: Malik's Apology

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Guess what I just learned today! How to make little edits in my fic through ff . net without deleting the chapter entirely and starting over with a new reload. Sorry for the delayed discovery. I am not a spring chicken, I learn technical stuff slower than you all.

* * *

Golden eyes blinked open and took in the room as warily as any uncertain wild eagle. Seeing only Malik and food, Altair sat up and silently accepted the proffered food.

He ate very slowly mentally growling about the extra attention and exertion of energy to hold the food in his hand without dropping it. It unnerved him how Malik simply sat and watched. He could not hold the plate in his left hand and the frustration played on his features clearly. He could hold the sandwich in his right though.

Malik did not help.

Altair felt relief in that he figured Malik knew that by helping it only affirmed the inability to function, a state Altair had inflicted upon himself. Once he had finished eating he glared at his left hand. "Malik? Will I heal?" He had intended it to mean just his arm and hand, but the intonation filled the question, loaded it with more. _I am wrong. I am fractured in so many hurting pieces. Malik? Will I ever heal?_

Malik must have had similar questions after Solomon's Temple. He answered both the verbal and the unspoken question, "You will never forget. And sometimes it will still hurt. But time does heal all wounds."

Altair mulled that answer over a while as Malik took away the plate and filled the basin with heated water for shaving. Altair held the straight razor in his hand and stared at it. His hand started to shake. He dropped it in the water. He could not hold it, could not bear to bring his hand, filled with a blade to his own skin. Shame painted his body's language.

Malik picked the blade out of the water and put it purposefully back into Altair's hand. "You are just shaving. You can do this."

He didn't want to, nor did he want Malik to do it for him. "I can't see what I am doing…" It was a lame excuse. How many times had he shaved before with nothing but his hidden blade and feeling fingers in the dark?

Malik knew. "Don't give me that crap. Just shave." His caustic tone snapped the words out.

In a way, Altair felt more comfortable with that. He didn't know how to behave around a Malik didn't hate him.

Altair earned several nicks in this process. His hand was still shaky. His left too uncertain and too unsteady to be very helpful. Malik worked on his log book and watched from a discreet distance. He brought over an ointment and dabbed it gently on each small nick. That burned and Altair hissed through his teeth. "You take swords to the gut, arrows in the shoulders, get gashed and battered in a million ways, bearing it in stoic silence. But little nicks and antiseptic makes you hiss and whine like a baby?" Malik was rewarded with a fierce scowl from Altair.

Malik's hand rested along Altair jaw as the thumb dabbed the ointment on the corner of his mouth. Malik's thumb traced the scar over Altair's mouth. The gentle intimate touch confused Altair. Malik's hand retracted too soon, before Altair could lean into it. He wanted to trust Malik. He wanted to be trusted. Malik seemed to be trying to say something with his eyes. Pride held the words behind his teeth. Altair was no different really. His own eyes begged forgiveness, tried to apologize, but pride kept them likewise locked behind his teeth. Altair looked away from those charcoal eyes._ I have no more pride. I cast it away, what little I had left after the Master stripped me of the first layers. How true were Malik's words?_

Malik's harsh words replayed in his mind.

A hand pressed against Altair's chest snapping his attention back to Malik. "Altair. Those… things I said… before. I did not mean them."

Altair's jaw clenched as did his fists. "Yes you did."

"No, Altair. No… I did not. I was wrong for saying them. I… was surprised and hurt and said the only things I knew that would hurt you in turn. But they were not true. I did not mean them."

Altair could believe that Malik meant what he said, that he did not mean to say them. But it did not mean that the words were not true. He had worried over and over that he might become like the Master, that he might force another to his will or his bed, that as a father figure he might violate his own son. _Is that not what happens? History repeats itself down a family line?_

"Now come. You still have a mission and you need to be ready for it. Lounging like an invalid gets you no closer to that goal."

Altair grumbled and stood and followed Malik from the comfortable place among the cushions into the back room, expecting now some form of physical torture to awaken his body and mind, if not his spirit.

* * *

A/N #2 – I know my website is problematic. I growled at it a great deal till 2am. It simply will not obey me at the moment. It is a work in progress.


	186. Chapter 186: Malik: I Trust You

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – GAH! Nearly 1000 reviews! Must rethink that webpage with reviews. Sorry folks if you don't see yours there. I will narrow down to just the really key ones that offer editing advise or other extremely useful info. On that note… all you readers who are reviewing… you are amazing! Thanks for keeping up!

* * *

Altair grumbled and stood and followed Malik from the comfortable place among the cushions into the back room, expecting now some form of physical torture to awaken his body and mind, if not his spirit.

Malik indeed complied with Altair's expectations. He already retreated behind his prickly shield as he removed books and papers and bottles from a narrow desk against the back wall between the two bedrolls. It would have to serve for a raised medical table for examination.

He waited patiently for Altair to make his way into the back. His sharp eyes analyzed Altair's every step. Just that morning, he could hardly make his way about, and definitely not down the stairs safely. The food and the sleep over the day did him a world of good, but Malik could see it was far from enough. He patted the now bare desk. "Get up on here."

Altair leaned a hand on a shelf for balance, regarding the narrow desk skeptically, "Malik? I won't fit on that."

Malik rolled his eyes, "You are not going to lie on it, you novice. Get up and SIT on it."

Malik got scowled at as Altair passed him and hopped a little to get sitting up on the desk. His hands suddenly flung out for balance, color washing from his face.

One hand caught the other's. Malik held Altair's hand till he steadied. "I won't let you fall." He held Altair's nervous eyes till the nervousness abated. This already told Malik much about Altair's state of health. He helped him remove his hood and tunic. From there he listened to his heart. This was much easier than leaning over a prone man. He shoved Altair's knees apart so he could get in close and press his ear to Altair's chest

"M-Malik," stammered Altair.

"Shhh…"

"M-m-Malik."

Malik raised himself to glare at Altair for his disobedience. The tenting in Altair's pants surprised him. "Well if you have enough blood in you for that, then you must have enough for your heart to beat well." Altair flushed. Malik turned away to hide his own slight coloring. He left his place to make up two pouches filled with sand and tie them together.

Keeping his silence when normally he would describe his every step was a technique Malik used against Altair that always worked. Curiosity bade Altair to pay more attention than he normally would. Malik turned back to see Altair trying to pretend that he was not craning. Malik set the sand-filled pouches on the desk beside Altair. The erection had also faded much to both their relief. "Think you can control yourself while I stand between those knees again?"

"If you were a woman, I'd say no and that you got what you asked for."

"You ass." Malik turned sideways standing between Altair's knees. _I think he just made a joke… at my expense. _Malik wondered if a hint of the old Altair was trying to surface. Not the old Altair that he had hated, but the funny and charming teen he had loved.

"Leg lifts till you sweat. Don't kick, just lift and touch." Malik held out his hand. Altair lifted his leg till his ankle touched Malik's palm. After twenty lifts, Malik turned and they repeated on the other leg. His right leg lifts showed a small hitch and Malik recalled that Altair had some problems with it.

After three sets, a sheen of light sweat coated Altair's body. The simple exercise was tiring. Malik let Altair rest and breathe a few minutes, then cupped his hand over the right knee. "Three lifts with this leg." Altair performed. Under Malik's fingers, he could feel the slight grind and crunch. He added a little pressure and asked Altair to do it again. After the first lift, Altair tore Malik's hand from his knee. Clearly the pain was sharp and unexpected. "You are lifting with your knee and need to lift with your leg."

Altair frowned not understanding. Malik placed his hand over the knee again. Altair tensed. "Feel where my hand is. I know you can control your every muscle when you want to and the pain. So don't use the knee to lift." He moved his hand to Altair's thigh just above the knee. "Use this muscle." He moved his hand to Altair's shin. "And this muscle." He then watched as Altair worked out the logistic in his head then put it into practice. "There. That will strengthen around the knee and thus give it more support, allow you to do more. (I wish I had remembered this back when you first told me about your knee."

The torture actually came when Malik placed the double pouches of sand over Altair's foot and they started a new set. After a few rounds, Altair was panting so much he was growing dizzy and light-headed. Malik again let him rest and breathe. The next torture involved raising his arm to a height outstretched with his fists pointing down. Then repeating the sets with the palms up. These were like martial moves for unarmed combat. Malik watched the movements of muscles critically. He then placed the little sand bags in one of Altair's palms. The torture continued.

However, Altair could not lift the sand bags in his left hand. He could not hold them even, not without dropping them from his grip. Malik changed his tactic and hand Altair simple grip and ungrip his hand, testing the movements and strength. "You'll get there," Malik promised.

Altair held Malik's hand as tightly as he could. Malik searched Altair's face for the reason. "Can I trust you, Altair?" Hurt filled the assassin's eyes as he looked away from Malik.

"Can I trust you?" Altair whispered back and he released Malik's hand.

Malik reached up and snaked his fingers behind Altair's neck. He drew the assassin forward just a little till their brows touched. "Yes, Altair. You can trust me."

Altair's hand hovered over Malik's shoulder. Malik whispered into the space between them, "Yes, I trust you." Altair's hand curled gently around the shoulder of Malik's stump. Eyes closed. They shared breath in this silent gesture of trust.

Naheem snuck stealthily the few paces to the little kitchen, not wanting to disturb this moment.

* * *

A/N #2 – This art was apparently inspired by fic. The artist used the brow touching idea from one of my early chapters. Now I am inspired by her inspired art and made her picture into a scene here for everyone.

http:/ keiva-som-ko .deviantart .com/art/ I-Trust-You-178223318


	187. Chapter 187: Altair's Experiences EDITED

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N November 4/2010 – I made some major content edits to this chapter. Thanks Hyarou for pointing out the Damascus dai was OOC. I fixed/explained... also added foreshadowing about Kadar's secret that Altaïr is keeping.

A/N #1 – NEWS! My lost $2600 cat is home now!

http:/ scarletcougar .blogspot .com/2010_11_01_ #2312983780367834664

* * *

Naheem snuck stealthily the few paces to the little kitchen, not wanting to disturb this moment.

Altaïr noticed him. He tensed as he sensed the teen pass into the room and out to the tiny kitchen. The clink of a couple jugs gave him away to Malik. Malik stepped away from Altaïr and handed him a towel to wipe the sweat off. Altaïr didn't want that moment to end, but it did. _I trust you._ Malik's whispered words repeated in his mind like a good massage. With some help, he dressed again in his tunic and hood.

He had not realized just how much energy he had spent doing those small simple yet torturous exercises till he hopped off the table. The room tilted and spun. His legs gave out under him. His vision tunnelled with black spotting. The air thinned and grew hot then very cold.

Malik caught him and eased him down to his bedroll. "Today was a lot, Altaïr. Relax. Dinner will be… uh… soon."

Naheem piped up, "Dinner will be in an hour. Light a candle to mark the time."

Malik rolled his eyes and turned an hourglass on his shelf over then handed it to Naheem.

Altaïr had drifted swiftly into a healing sleep again.

As it turned out, the "orange soup" as Naheem called it because of the color turned out to be sensational. Naheem beamed proudly. "That does not mean I end up the woman around here doing all the cooking, okay? Please?"

"I thought you could not cook anything more than rice?" Malik asked.

Naheem shrugged. "I lied? My mom taught me to cook since she was too ill or weak to actually do it, she instructed."

Altaïr secretly enjoyed the light banter between dai and novice. It reminded him of Malik with Kadar. That brought a pang. He closed his eyes and wondered to himself if and when he ought to divulge a secret he swore to keep for Kadar. No, like his child in safety, he'd leave Kadar's a secret as well, for now. Then again, maybe later, it would be good for Malik to know that he does indeed have blood family in this world. _How old would she be now? Four? Just about?_

The following days seemed to progress as this one, minus the major explosions of anger. They were filled with sleep, often nightmare ridden, though sometimes peaceful. They were filled with interesting cooking experiences from Naheem to celebrate the little strides the teen had made in talking to Tibah a few moments each time he went to the market. They were filled with the now hated exercises.

~~ 00 oo 00 ~~

The informant had abandoned his stolen horse not far from Damascus and entered the city by assisting a merchant with a wagon full of sacs of grain. With some struggle and manhandling, the uncooperative wagon entered the city. The informant was offered some coin for his aid.

He wove through the town only somewhat familiar with the Middle District. At his cousin's home he was greeted by a surprised wife and four children. He spent the afternoon with them till his cousin came home and could direct him to the Bureau.

At the Bureau, the dai of Damascus was as helpful as Malik had warned. "Malik… again? I had already told him that what happens in my city is not of his concern, just as what happens in his is none of my concern." He shook his head and laughed lightly. "Maybe Altaïr dropped some of that hashish into Malik's incense pot? I know he is still somewhat new to the position of being a dai, unlike the rest of us, but after a year… I thought he would understand this by now." He lit some candles for the late hour. "It is his responsibility to figure out how to help the Great Eagle complete his mission. Tell him to ask the Grand master for the reports if he needs them. Now go… sleep on the carpets. It is late. Then, go home." His usually jovial demeanor was unmasked by lateness and the insult of sending someone to collect something from him in person.

The informant knew better than to retort, though he deeply wanted to defend Malik. The passive aggressive light tone yet litany of insults made it hard to really know if the man was joking or not. He chose caution and silence. It would be too easy for a city dai to declare a him as being a traitor and have him marked for assassination before he ever left the city.

By dawn, the informant had gone. He sat in his cousin's home transcribing in a code Malik had taught him months ago all he had memorized from the log book he read in the middle of the night. By dinner, he was sneaking out of the city, papers wrapped in leather and tied to his chest under his clothing.

~~ 00 oo 00 ~~

The other informant had taken a shortcut to get to Acre. That was a mistake. He found himself running for his life, chased by soldiers almost back to Jerusalem. He hiked over the mountains instead, using goat trails. Acre boasted an army of King Richard's men newly landed. They looked like great swarms from the ledge he sat upon. He pulled off most of his clothing and hid it in between some rock for later. Now he looked a poor monk starved and worn and praying for shelter with his brethren.

The ruse worked amazingly as some monks outside guided him within. Finding the Bureau turned out to be tricky. It had recently moved. He offered blessings to a man on the docks who gave him some alms and bread and direction.

The dai of Acre gave him a copied set of what was needed, having expected he would have to at some point. He also provided the informant with news of the state of things here with the army and King Richard's men. "With King Richard here, there have been some improvements. The soldier's abuse on the people has ended and order is coming to both the soldiers and the city. The Templars have departed from Acre, though I know not to where. They are talking of war. Be careful getting home." He was provided with supplies for a journey back and a mule with merchant goods to help his new guise. "Take the supplies to the army camp outside the city. Then leave with the mule to our safehouse on the road. There should be one of our Brothers there and some horses. Stop for no one and nothing after that." This also gave this informant an opportunity to eyeball the state of the army more clearly.

~~ 00 oo 00 ~~

Feeling more normal, or as normal physically as Altaïr could, he quietly asked to read through all his journals. Out of various hiding places, Malik collected several books and set them on the small desk for him. Then he added a few others. Altaïr gave him a quizzical look but got no explanation.

Altaïr retreated to the attic for isolation while he subjected himself to these journals of things he revealed under a coercion drug, and to the notes Malik made about those sessions. For almost an hour he just sat there staring at the covers. He set aside the soft leather one that was a gift from Malik. He knew what those pages held. With great trepidation, Altaïr opened the first of the drug session notebooks and began to read.

Naheem looked up the stairs after about six hours. Malik forbade the teen from going there. "Leave him be. He needs to do this for himself."

Candles burned at different heights around Altaïr. He read each notebook slowly, reading was that kind of slow process. One by one, he faced them, demons and all. Reading this was minimally easier than dreaming about it. Dreaming it was like reliving it. Reading it, helped dull the feelings, helped settle it as things that happened in the past. _So I can never forget them, so I can move past them._ Redemption would not be in these pages, less so in the pages of the unfamiliar journals that Altaïr discovered were Malik's private journals. He didn't feel ready just yet to know Malik's thoughts and feelings. He wasn't sure why he had them. _Maybe it was a mistake. I'll give them back._

Sometime after dinner, after almost eleven hours in the attic, Altaïr quietly made his way down with Malik's journals. "Malik? You… I think you gave these to me by mistake."

* * *

A/N #2 – still ridiculously scattered and thrilled to have my kitty home. I have locked myself in my office to be with him.


	188. Chapter 188: Malik: Moving Right Along

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Major editing happened to some content in the previous chapter. Fixed stuff and added stuff. I recommend rereading it to see the inserted foreshadowing.

* * *

Sometime after dinner, after almost eleven hours in the attic, Altaïr quietly made his way down with Malik's journals. "Malik? You… I think you gave these to me by mistake."

Malik looked over his shoulder from the little desk where he was pouring over notes from informants about Templar activity. Seeing his journals in Altaïr's hands, he shook his head and turned back to his notes. "No. I made no such mistake. Did you finish with your other ones?"

"There is… so… much. No."

There was a strained tone that Malik picked up from Altaïr's voice. He turned on his stool to face the assassin. "Why don't you take those back up? I'll send Naheem up there with some food and water for you." He watched Altaïr turn and pause and turn and turn back. "What is it, Altaïr?"

The assassin shook his head. "Nothing, Malik." Altaïr trudged tiredly back up to the attic.

Malik wondered what Altaïr was about to say, what he wanted to say. He considered pressing the man for those unspoken words and decided he had really pushed enough this year. Altaïr would open up on his own or not at all. Malik sighed with the weight of his world's stress upon him.

"Malik," Naheem's voice was the slightest warning before the novice, rafiq now, placed hands upon the dai's shoulders and massaged.

Malik moaned his appreciation. It evoked a chuckle from Naheem. "You are a godsend from Allah himself!"

"And here I was thinking all I was good for was cleaning and running errands and cooking."

"Speaking of," began Malik only to hear a whining moan from his novice. "Please bring some water and dinner up to Altaïr." The massaging of his shoulders sadly ended as Naheem did his duty.

The sound of a new arrival in the main room drew Malik out. His informant from Damascus arrived, dust covered and severely saddle-sore by the way he walked. Malik lifted a jar from his shelves. "Safety and peace, Brother. You were successful?"

The man undid the scarves and layers of shirt to pull free the sheaves of coded notes. "Safety and peace. Yes, though I had to apply deception to do so. That dai has a very backhanded manner of seeming friendly while insulting you severely with his joking manner. I dislike him greatly and hope I am never assigned to Damascus." He handed over the papers to Malik.

"Here, for the sores I can tell you have. Go home, rest. I'll see you in a few days." Malik exchanged papers for jar. The informant gladly took his leave for a much needed rest. Decoding these would take Malik days, but every scrap of insight would be worth it. Somewhere was the key that would reveal a traitor in Masyaf. Malik was certain AL Mualim was employing the same detailed and determined combing. After discovering that the second in command had been a traitor almost two years ago, _has it been that long already?_, this new traitor must be exceptionally good and avoiding detection. Malik felt sure he could figure it out. Altaïr must know who it is, must have crossed his path many times. It was a matter of putting together all the puzzle pieces and drawing out the right memories.

He had not been away how deeply he had immersed himself already in these notes till Naheem tisked and changed the candles, added oil to the snuffed lamp and relit it, and shoved food under Malik's nose. Naheem informed Malik that Altaïr had fallen asleep among the journals. Malik abandoned his food to bring up a blanket to cover Altaïr.

In the attic all the candles had burned out save for one that was starting to gutter. Altaïr was taking notes in his soft journal from various things in his notebooks. Malik had to smile at the efforts. They were both trying to figure things out. For Altaïr though, facing these books was like facing one's demons at the same time. He knelt and tucked the blanket around the sleeping man. He pushed the hood back a little to move his fingers through Altaïr's hair. Golden eyes snapped open. "Shhh, it is only I, Malik. I brought you a blanket. It's cold up here." Altaïr closed his eyes again and Malik knew that the assassin had not really woken.

Malik stayed up late, worry gnawing at him. The informant that traveled to Acre should have made it back before the one who went to Damascus. That worry ate into the next day.

Naheem had diligently attended his drafting lessons after the master builder threw him out for intermittent attendance. It was a small sacrifice, but he could always catch up on lessons with Malik at other times. Junayd was a sponge for anything that he could learn and a challenge. He was excited and wanted to be doing more. He had a zillion stories to tell of the things he has seen out and about. It inspired Malik to make a new note in his wishful training notebook. Youths are trusted or ignored more easily and less suspected of being assassins or informants. It made him wonder what exactly went into the training for informants. That realization irritated Malik a great deal, that he did not know something so basic as how a dimension of the Brotherhood was trained.

Altaïr remained sequestered in the attic with his journals and Malik's too. He said nothing. He cleaned up privately when everyone was busy. He ate whatever was given him for meals. He stayed quiet and contemplative. It almost drove Malik mad.

With no informant back from Acre, still and Altaïr hidden in the attic, Malik's nerves ran high. He slept poorly and grouched at everyone and everything. Finally he even lost his patience with an empty bottle of his medical kit. He exploded in his back room. Naheem backed out of the way, unsure how to deal with that. Altaïr came down to see what the hell was happening, a knife in his hand, in case they were under some kind of attack. He dodged Malik's random senseless fury and stood with Naheem in the main room till it was over. Naheem took his cue from Altaïr who remained calm through it all like this was normal. When it was over, Malik stormed out for a walk. To clear his head and replenish his empty or now broken supplies.

Naheem vowed that he was not cleaning up a grown man's temper tantrum.

Altaïr followed Malik like a silent and secret shadow. With so many Templars and Malik in a mood, Altaïr didn't want to risk losing him to some mishap. The trip was uneventful. It was almost as if the world knew Malik was foul tempered and dangerous today. Once back in the Bureau, he cleaned up his own mess, set things right and categorized all the books and bottles. Feeling helpless was Malik's worst bane.

At night Malik could not sleep well. He had gotten used to Altaïr in his bed and found that he missed the presence. He rolled over, reaching out to touch… nothing. Then he would wake. Naheem was drawing by candle light. "Master Malik? Why don't you just either go upstairs and spend a night there with him, or ask him to come down here to sleep? Or… better yet, why don't you two go out to that old ruined church and work out some? You keep saying he needs to get back into the flow of things. I'll watch for your informant. If he comes, I'll fetch you immediately. I know where you'll be after all." Naheem's advice was like an epiphany. Malik didn't want to disturb Altaïr upstairs, but he rolled onto his back and fell asleep to mentally planning that outing.

That morning, Malik planned to do just that. However, the informant from Acre arrived.

* * *

A/N #2 – dun dun dun….


	189. Chapter 189: Altair Challenges Malik

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – I know it is short, but I felt it needed to be.

* * *

That morning, Malik planned to do just that. However, the informant from Acre arrived. He looked far rougher for ware than remotely expected. Naheem hurried over to get him a stool to sit upon as Malik rushed back for his medical kit. "Safety and peace," he coughed dryly. Naheem offered him a cup of water. Malik dropped the medical bag on the table.

The informant produced the documents. "There will be war. Richard's army masses outside Acre. All the Templars have departed the city for some other, yet unknown location." Malik gestured and Naheem flipped open the log book and started swiftly scribbling the report. "Richard has stabilized Acre. It's safer now."

"Then by what route to hell did you take to end up like this?" demanded Malik as he treated small and medium wounds.

"I stumbled into some Templars on their way here. Robert de Sable will be here in maybe ten days. I crossed the mountains to escape them. I don't," he coughed again, "don't advise that route to hell. The goat trails are not as stable as they used to be." The informant gave a lopsided smile, despite his pain. "Maybe I missed the trail a little."

"A little? Did you take a leap of faith off a cliff?"

"Maybe…"

Naheem asked if he should write that. Both men said no. Malik treated the wounds and bound the broken ribs. Altaïr stood leaning in the doorway listening. Ten days was not much time. He needed to see the layout of the target location again. He needed to refresh his mind and remap it. He needed to work his body back into being ready. Robert was a challenge, even for Altaïr and he knew it.

The curtain ruffled as Altaïr turned to the back room and rummaged for his armour and weapons. _So, it begins then. I am an assassin. I have a mission. And no one can do it. The Master assigned it to me. The ninth kill to redeem myself. _He stared at the bandaging on his left arm and cursed.

After treating the informant and sending him home and upon hearing the rustling in the back, Malik came to see what was going on. Altaïr grunted and thrust his left arm at Malik. "Oh no… not yet." Malik declined the unspoken request.

"Yes, Malik. Now. I must see for myself," insisted Altaïr. He gritted his teeth at Malik's less than gentle removal of the bandages and most, though not all of the stitches. He rebandaged the arm over those stitches to reduce chafing. Altaïr immediately pulled on the armour and hidden blade, tying the straps firmly with practices fingers.

Malik started to fit blades upon his body and fill his pouches.

"Malik, what the hell are you doing?" asked Altaïr.

"You are my responsibility. I am going with you." He tucked in some throwing knives. "Besides, you'll need help mapping this,"

"You are responsible for me HERE, not out there. I can't afford to be responsible for you out there." Grumbled Altaïr.

"How dare you!" snapped Malik.

"I'll go," offered Naheem in an attempt to diffuse the fight he could see about to happen.

"NO!" both men yelled back at him. "It's too dangerous."

Naheem threw his hands up in the air and left the back room. Malik followed, "Naheem. I'll be fine. I have trained for this."

"And you haven't done this in over a year," countered the youth.

Altaïr headed for the fountains and filled his canteens. "I won't wait for you, Malik. And I won't allow you to slow me down."

Malik replied venomously, "You won't need to. I can keep up just fine."

In truth, Altaïr was more than glad to have Malik along. He had been down and out for so long, he was uncertain of his own skills. Also, this would feel a little like old times when they went on missions together. He needed out anyways. The attic, the notebooks, the messy scribbling on so many pages, the content… he needed an escape, just for a little while. He needed to fly outside and breathe the fresh air. They could scout together, even if he did intend to be responsible for Malik, if necessary. And yes, he would wait, maybe.

Altaïr climbed up the fountain and out the opening in the roof and into the warm morning sun. He knew Malik could do no such climb one-handed. He heard Malik cursing behind him.

* * *

A/N #2 – My kitty has a clean bill of health and is now with the other kitties in the home. We are a whole family again. Now to work on making Malik and Altaïr whole again too. I have heard the suggestions of others to incorporate some art from DA (which I will in the next chapter) and to give Malik and Altaïr some time training in the ruined church (coming in a few chapters).


	190. Chapter 190: Malik: Team Scouting

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – sorry, homework took some precedent.

* * *

Altaïr climbed up the fountain and out the opening in the roof and into the warm morning sun. He knew Malik could do no such climb one-handed. He heard Malik cursing behind him.

Malik turned and ran through the Bureau yelling at Naheem to lock up after him as he took the stairs to the roof three at a time. Altaïr did wait, though pretended not to. Malik burst through the door of the attic on the roof.

Naheem rolled his eyes and trudged up the stairs, locking the door at the top after Malik. He wondered how long they would be out scouting. Altaïr tended to take a few days. It was strange to see Malik impulsive like this. But then, maybe Malik didn't want to let Altaïr out of his sight, just in case.

Malik grumbled a variety of colourful curses that would surely send him to hell as he followed Altaïr across the wooden planks. He was not out of shape from this aspect of training. He had kept up with the basics of spying and pick-pocketing. He had scouted the nearby roofs to know the area from this perspective. He patted the paper and charcoal sticks in his pouches to be sure he had not forgotten them. Keeping up with Altaïr was like chasing the wind.

When they leapt across to another roof, Malik could feel his own blood singing with the flight. A flicker of a grin from Altaïr made the risk worth it. For a second, he lost sight of Altaïr. Then hands grabbed his black robes and yanked him sideways between groups of crates. Altaïr whispered about archers. His vision was always better than Malik's. A glance to the side over the edge of the building revealed two Templar knights. Malik could see the calculating flying through Altaïr's mind. He reminded the assassin that they were just scouting, though he deeply wanted to test his skills. His hand sought his sword, which he did not have. _Damn._

Altaïr drew two throwing knives and pointed, then pointed to a third archer. Malik nodded and drew a throwing knife. Malik pointed to a strategic meeting point for them both and Altaïr nodded in turn. The third floor roof five houses over offered a good vantage point for some observation. Their eyes locked for a second then they both bolted in different direction to remove their respective targets.

The two archers that Altaïr aimed for were directly in the path to their meeting point. He ran headlong for them. Malik knew Altaïr trusted him to make sure the third did not get him in the back as he ran. Malik ran hard across the roof, he leapt to a hanging platform that swung wildly. Another leap tumbled him across the next roof. The archer already took aim at the running white target, not yet noticing the shadowed black one. Malik lost two throwing knives from his initial throws from the platform. Cursing, he leaned in a still shadow behind the archer whose first shot thankfully missed Altaïr. Malik's next throw did not miss the archer. The knife pierced the back of the man's neck with the point protruding out the front through his adam's apple. Malik ran to catch him before he fell into the crowd below.

He looked up to see that Altaïr had successfully eliminated his two targets and was already running for the third floor vantage point. Malik would need to get there soon before anyone noticed. His mind calculated the route, the run, the jumps and climbs like he had never left this aspect of life, like the past year or so had never happened. The run was smooth, the jumps perfect, the landings earned him bruises. The wall to climb might as well have been a sheer surface of five stories. He hit it at a run, scrambled and fell. Malik spat fiery curses at the wall, at the loss of his arm he had forgotten about for a critical moment. He stamped each step as he trudged back many feet across the second floor roof to the farthest edge. Muttering another curse he returned to push the only small crate into a place he could jump from to gain more leverage, then trudged again back to the distant mark.

Malik tensed each muscle, ready to spring into action like a cat. He ran. Dust kicked up from each landing of a foot. Up, he ran onto the small box. Off he leapt for the wall. He would make it. Or not. He clung to the top ledge with his arm and his stump, grumbling how this was a lot harder than he thought. A dark boot appeared in front of him. _Arrgh… not you…_

"Looks like you could use a hand," spoke Altaïr as he began to kneel.

Malik snarled, offended, "Sh-shut it, Altaïr!" Belatedly, Malik realized Altaïr was not trying to be joking nor insulting.

Altaïr held out his hand to Malik, offering assistance with no malice. "I'll help you up. Just take my hand." He left the choice to accept help up to Malik.

Both humiliation and humility brought color to Malik's face. He reached and clasped wrists with Altaïr. "Is that a blush?" asked Altaïr with the tiniest hint of amusement.

"Shut up, novice!" spat Malik as Altaïr pulled him to the roof top.

They crouched on the roof side by side as Malik caught his breath. They tried to keep to a slowly moving shadow cast by a nearby tower. Malik pulled out a folded map and a blank sheaf of paper. He sketched an enlarged image of this area. Altaïr made small comments about distant guard and Templars that he could see, along with hiding places. Malik noted them all. The day waned like this till it got too dark to see. They would have to return here tomorrow to repeat and see if the patterns of movement were the same. Malik loathed having to do that climb again. He loathed more having to seek assistance for what should have been completely simple, had he both hands.

Dropping down to the second floor roof was easy. They made their way to the tower that had offered them shade. Malik growled that he could not climb that. He hated to admit it but it was true. He did not however voice that to Altaïr. He studied their destination. Altaïr tugged his sleeve. He followed Altaïr a little ways farther and discovered a veil covered roof garden. "It will be warmer in there," muttered Altaïr.

There they slept huddled close together for the night. Malik quiet in his thoughts of the various failures in the day. Little did he know Altaïr thought the same thing. "Malik. This … this should not have tired me as much as it did. I missed the climb of that wall to the third floor. When we are done, I think I need to rework on my skills. So much bed rest made me … soft." If Altaïr felt soft, Malik thought that by comparison, he must be as soft as a liquid pool. "Malik? Will you come train with me in the ruined church when we are done here?"

Malik had to wonder if Naheem had a similar talk with Altaïr about this very notion. Irregardless, it was still a good idea. "I will have to first check with Naheem and look over the logs. Maybe take the journals with us in case the Bureau gets inspected or spied upon while he sleeps."

Ten days. Ten days were not enough days to get caught up. It took three to map the routes and plot the Templars and guard. Another to organize Naheem and the Bureau. Malik decided he would make sure Altaïr was physically ready, if not mentally for the task ahead. Altaïr had changed so much since a year ago, Malik would not have recognized him if this Altaïr had walked into the Bureau. Maybe this Altaïr had and he had simply been blind.

Six days. Altaïr had six days to be ready to take Robert de Sable's life. Would six days be enough?

* * *

A/N #2 – Art that inspired this chapter!

http:/ otaku-jrock .deviantart .com /art/AC-Flee-172894474

http:/ hoshi-san .deviantart .com /art/Need-a-hand-163990014


	191. Chapter 191: Altair: Church Training

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – You asked for a training in the ruined church chapter with Malik & Altaïr… I think you will get a few.

* * *

Six days. Altaïr had six days to be ready to take Robert de Sable's life. Would six days be enough?

Naheem had instruction on what to do as people came in, to which he repeatedly replied that he knew, especially after the fourth time Malik went over it. "Master Malik. I KNOW! You will only be gone a few days. I just handled the Bureau for the last four days. I will be fine for another few days." The advice then shifted to what to work with Junayd on. There, Naheem took notes.

Altaïr spent most of the previous night cleaning and sharpening various blades and leather armour. Malik packed food and water and blankets that Naheem had to dig out of storage, along with a uniform change for them both. He also packed his medical bag and some journals and notebooks.

Altaïr addressed Naheem, "Come with us. Help carry some of… all of this." He thought this was ridiculous but could not talk Malik out of it. "Then check in on us in four days. We might be five, but check. We'll need help carrying this back."

Naheem tried hard not to snicker as he informed Malik about bedding and blankets and supplies that were already in hiding places in the ruined church for them. Red-faced with a mix of embarrassment and annoyance, Malik lessened the load. Naheem still came to help if necessary. They took Naheem's easy to travel route as Naheem was less daring than Altaïr and wasn't willing to take any leaps of faith into strange dark alleys.

On the roof of the building beside the ruined church, Malik recognized the mapping. This was the location where the hangings were to happen when Altaïr targeted the Regent. The Poor District. Filthy, smelly, full of drunks and rabble. The church was still a ruination of broken roof tiles, cut up pews, dust and mold, and rats. "What is with all the rats?" He asked as he ducked low in order to get through the opening and watched another rat scurry off.

"Hunting," commented Altaïr curtly as he knew the rats were fast and hard to hit so they made excellent target practice.

Naheem smirked, "Two on a spit makes a great meal." At the mortified and disgusted look that flashed over Malik's face, Naheem burst into laughter.

Malik dropped the bag he carried and cuffed the teen in the back of the head, "Novice," he snarled.

It didn't stop Naheem's snickering, "Me? You are the one who believed me."

"Naheem, check the grain pells." He picked up Malik's dropped back and climbed a spiraling iron staircase to the area where he hid and stored supplies. He walked around the second floor landing as he watched Malik explore the ruined church now training grounds. To the average eye, it looked like a mess of ropes, overturned pews, construction materials and piles of hay. To an assassin, it was an excellent modification of local materials for the task at hand, that being training. He watched Naheem take down a large grain sac that hung by a rope and restitch it closed. There was this weird deja vue feeling he had standing here observing the preparations for training. A shiver ran down his spine and he turned his attention to helping. _I am no true master of these men._

Naheem helped Altaïr fill the many basins with water from a fountain outside. Malik found the place where they would sleep and cook their meagre meals. There he set up the blankets and checked the bedding for bugs. Naheem dropped down beside him and dug into a pack for some bread to nibble. "Want to see me jump the ledge into the hay?" Malik nodded and stood to watch.

Altaïr set down the last bucket of clean water and also watched. "He had so much trouble with this. Then while I fetched something, he figured it out on his own with the determination of a hunting dog." He was proud of Naheem. That pride filled his voice and warmed a place in his chest.

"You did well with him, Altaïr." Malik's approval and praise warmed Altaïr even more.

Naheem left for the Bureau wishing so badly that he could stay to train with them. However, someone had to be at the Bureau now. Robert would be here soon. They needed to know any last minute changes should they manifest.

Altaïr walked through his make-shift training space. He made some adjustments. He checked the strength of knots, the stability or instability of beams of wood, crates, and pews and the obstacles and pells he had created over the previous training times in here. He glanced up often feeling Malik's eyes upon him. He wondered if he was being judged. Malik removed his black robe, leaving it over the railing, and came down the stairs to meet Altaïr. Not knowing what Malik was planning, he instinctually took a step or two back, at least until Malik turned to stand beside him and took a martial stance.

Altaïr relaxed into the familiarity of the stances and moves they worked through. Offensive moves, defensive moves, unarmed combat then imagined armed combat. They performed each move slowly, aiming at perfecting the move, repeating them, then speeding them up till they moved like blurs. They knew these moves without needing to think about them, muscle memory as Malik would call it. Altaïr never really understood the description. _How does a muscle remember something? Thinking happens in the head not in the muscles._ Hours and hours they warmed up like this. After several hours, they realized how swiftly they grew tired.

Sweating and panting, they took a break. Malik brought over some water and food while they rested. Altaïr frowned as he pulled off his hood and tugged at all the straps of the armour with irritation till he got it all off and wore only his shirt and pants. He dumped the first cup of water down the back of his neck to cool off. Malik did likewise. Altaïr tried not to look over at the bare stump too much while they sat, though he wondered deeply if it hurt. Some of what he read from Malik's private journals had been about the terrible physical pain he felt in his arm.

He tore his eyes away from Malik to return to working out. Altaïr pushed himself hard. Malik did his best to keep up. Though Malik paced himself better. He stopped and forced Altaïr to stop. "I need to be ready Malik."

"Yes, and I intend to make sure you are, but if you over do it, you will ruin yourself and not be able to do your mission." Malik took Altaïr's wrist and turned over to expose the long deep scar with a few lingering stitches. "Let me clean this up and remove the last stitches."

Altaïr felt the warmth in that hand around his wrist. He heard a softer tone in the voice. It reminded him of the Malik of his youth who stepped in just before he would do something that would strain him. It reminded him of the privately warm Malik who cared as deeply for him as he did for his own family. It dug a knife of guilt into Altaïr who followed obediently, for what else could he do? He had harmed Malik so much that he dared not disobey. Altaïr wondered when he would be tortured as he was before with the other exercises, which he had to grudgingly admit actually helped him.

They sat quietly. They ate quietly. Malik removed the last few stitches in silence. Altaïr contemplated. Several times he opened his mouth to say something. He wanted to say that he was sorry for all that had happened. But just thinking about the words never felt like they would be enough. So Altaïr kept his thoughts to himself.

The next several days worked their muscles, their balance, and their skills. It pushed both their endurance. The evenings were filled with reviewing some of the journals, sometimes discussing strategy for how to face the growing number of Templars. The night chill kept the two huddled close for warmth.

On the third night Altaïr finally asked, "Why are you awake so early? You don't need to be and you don't need to train as I do."

"I need to know I can, in case I must."

"Malik? Why did you give me your private journals?"

Malik pushed with his shoulder a little, since Altaïr had been snuggled between his shoulder blades again. When Altaïr moved back a bit, Malik rolled over to face him. "You deserve to know what I went through, how I felt, and what my life has been like. It is only fair that I let you see the naked and… and… vulnerable part of me. I have seen yours."

Again that apology rose in Altaïr, but he again could not willingly voice it.

Malik tucked his stump under his cheek, as he often did to pillow his head even when he had the full arm. He pulled the blankets into a better position to cover them both. Then, without hesitation, Malik stroked Altaïr's hair. Not really understanding the intention, Altaïr flinched. He tensed with uncertainty. Malik made no other motions. Warily, Altaïr relaxed. Then he inched closer. Malik tugged him in a little closer till Altaïr was nestled under Malik's chin. Altaïr melted into him, sleep beckoning with the warmth that was more from this small comfort than the blankets.

* * *

A/N #2 – Remembrance day: Remember those fallen soldiers of WW I & II. At 11:00am, on November 11th, honour them with 11 minutes of silence.


	192. Chapter 192: Malik's Hope

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Apologies… Away for a conference till Monday. Next installment on November 15th.

* * *

Malik tugged him in a little closer till Altaïr was nestled under Malik's chin. Altaïr melted into him, sleep beckoning with the warmth that was more from this small comfort than the blankets.

Malik could not sleep though. All the training they engaged in for the past few days focused on strength building. Three more days and Altaïr had to be ready to fight, not just fight, but take out one of the most dangerous men. Robert de Sable had a reputation of being best warrior among King Richard's Templars. He was a brilliant tactician. According to the information from that informant, Robert de Sable was now head of the Templars here in the Middle East. In the past year or so, he had only gotten better, more skilled, more dangerous, more powerful. This man trained as hard if not harder than the Those of Malik's own Brotherhood.

What kept Malik awake was his worry that Altaïr may not be as skilled. All Malik could think about was how swiftly and brutally Robert de Sable dealt with Kadar. Had Malik not shared part of Altaïr's fate of being thrown through collapsing tunnel structure (luckily with the Treasure in hand that Kadar threw to him before being cut down), Malik was sure he would not have survived Robert's cold fury. Could Altaïr fight and kill Robert de Sable? They might be evenly matched with skill, but Altaïr lacked the heavy armour of the Templars and would have to get through that to kill Robert.

Thinking through those realities helped Malik think up some strategies for training. Altaïr needed to be faster than the heavy slower Templars. He must excel at evasion. Dodging blows would be his only survival. Training must refocus on dexterity, flexibility, agility, and acrobatics. Altaïr's needed to be precise. He needed to know where the gaps in the armour were and how to hit them. He needed to know their weaknesses.

A dangerous, insane plot hatched in his tired mind. Malik would think on it more in the morning.

Malik had wanted to challenge himself in this training. That was before they realized there were so few days till Robert de Sable would arrive. He suspended his own desire to test is skills with the acrobatic, and focused on watching, guiding, and assisting Altaïr. He honestly was not sure if Altaïr would have enough hand strength in the left hand after he had cut himself.

Altaïr fell from his ropes several times as evidence of the damage done from that injury. Malik stepped back as Altaïr shook with frustration and anger till the fury exploded and he pounded and roared at one of the wooden doors. Malik leaned casually against the wall and waited. Once Altaïr had exhausted the rage at his own failing, Malik retrieved the medical kit and treated the bleeding knuckles. That one outburst reminded Malik of the rumour of demons in this church and understood how it came to be.

They argues harshly after that as Altaïr wanted to get back to the ropes and try again. Malik tried to encourage him to do a different task and come back to the ropes after. The argument degenerated to pushing and shoving, then fists, then wrestling. Then Malik pinned Altaïr and whispered in his ear ferociously. "I always win. You know why? Because you get so mad and self-absorbed that you lose sight of the goal and the fight. I watch for the mistake I know you will eventually make. A calm fighter will always win. Because the calm fighter is in control. Stop losing control."

He let Altaïr up. Altaïr was red-faced with anger and embarrassment, but averted his eyes. "Yes, Malik."

"Come, let's eat something." Malik stood and offered his hand to help Altaïr up. He didn't think Altaïr would accept it. Altaïr still dodged most of his attempts to reach out to him. He almost withdrew his hand, but then a calloused and scarred hand gripped his as Altaïr stood. Malik nodded approval. "Tonight, I'll rub you down, since I can't get you to soak in a hot tub."

The later part of the afternoon and evening progressed much better with more focus. Altaïr remained stoic and silent since his outburst. When evening came and they had been well fed, Malik brought out the muscle rub. He sat upon his folded black robe and waited for Altaïr. Altaïr was nibbling the last of his bread while reading through a journal. "You are reading faster than I remember." Altaïr's eyes flicked briefly to Malik then back to the book. Malik continued speaking, "Do they help your understanding? Answer any … questions?" Altaïr simply nodded. His silence was maddening. Malik took a deep breath reminding himself that Altaïr needed to absorb before expressing, demanding his thoughts would never gain them.

Altaïr finally set down the journal, now that he was finished his bread. He licked the flavour of the herb bread from each finger. Malik looked away suddenly, banishing the strange desirous thoughts that crept into his mind sinfully. Altaïr stripped himself down and shivered in the chill night air. He sat upon a bedroll with his back to Malik, close enough for Malik to rub the salve into him. "Turn around Altaïr." Confused, Altaïr turned. The quirked eyebrow, now visible with no hood to hide the expression almost made Malik laugh. He smothered his smirk.

He opened the large jar and watched Altaïr's nose wrinkle at the slight burning menthol scent. The odour rose strongly of cinnamon, ginger, pepper, eucalyptus and other things in the complicated recipe. Altaïr closed his eyes. Malik waited a moment or three. Then he tucked his hand behind Altaïr's neck and drew him forward a little so their brows touched. This very act seemed to melt away much of Altaïr's tension. Only after sharing a moment of this kind of cautious trust did Malik straighten up and begin to massage the muscle rub into Altaïr's flesh, over his chest muscles, pectorals, and down each arm. He directed Altaïr to lay back and he massaged the warming salve into the abdominals, hips, thighs, and down Altaïr's legs. He ignored the twitching erection. Apparently so did Altaïr. The process of massaging continued after Altaïr rolled over. The softest sighs or moans of relief felt greatly rewarding for Malik. The smell surrounding them now seemed more warm and spicy than menthol-y.

When he was done, Malik draped several blankets over Altaïr expecting that the assassin had fallen asleep from the massaging. He closed his muscle rub jar, then nestled in under the blankets for warmth with Altaïr. He stifled his gasp of surprise when Altaïr's hand snuck over to grasp Malik's. Malik wrapped himself around Altaïr, holding him closely. "Whenever you feel ready, Altaïr. I hope you will talk to me."

* * *

A/N #2 – : by all means! Feel free to draw for this fic! I'll link your art when you point it out to me.


	193. Chapter 193: Altair: Shadows and Daggers

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – crammed with the camping gear in the back seat of a friend's car, on an eight hour drive home, trying to type in the dark and wishing my laptop was an alien ware with a back-lit keyboard.

* * *

When he was done, Malik draped several blankets over Altaïr expecting that the assassin had fallen asleep from the massaging. He closed his muscle rub jar, then nestled in under the blankets for warmth with Altaïr. He stifled his gasp of surprise when Altaïr's hand snuck over to grasp Malik's. Malik wrapped himself around Altaïr, holding him closely. "Whenever you feel ready, Altaïr. I hope you will talk to me."

Altaïr wanted to speak, wanted to ask so many things, wanted to express himself. It just didn't want to come out. His fingers laced through Malik's and tightened. He was too tired anyways.

Waking, Altaïr found Malik had been up for a long time, with the dawn likely. He wondered why he had not heard him. Malik climbed and jumped, punched and kicked, as he put himself through some of the obstacle course that Altaïr had built inside the ruined little church. As he dressed and helped himself to whatever breakfast Malik left for him, Malik called him down.

As he got to the bottom floor, Malik was nowhere to be seen. The hairs tingled on his neck as memory tickled his mind. They played this game often in training. Shadows and daggers. He dropped into a defensive stance. Obviously he was the target and needed to use the shadows or face the daggers. The game was on! He cursed silently as he had not brought a weapon with him. He picked up a stick from the floor. A stone accurately struck his hand when he reached from his chosen shadowy hiding spot. He dodged and ran from shadow to shadow, snatching a stick from another spot.

His advantage over Malik was two hands allowed him to climb silently onto a ledge. Having been tagged on the hand, he was now the aggressor and Malik the target. He watched below him for movement. He had watched for the black robes never thinking Malik would be wearing just the sleeveless white tunic over his dark pants. When the shadow directly below him moved, Altaïr dropped and almost didn't pull his blow with the stick. He tagged Malik on the stumped shoulder and ran.

He winced to himself wishing he had not tagged that shoulder. He heard Malik hiss loudly. Malik was now the dagger and Altaïr needed to hide in the shadows. Altaïr expected the next time he was tagged by Malik it would hurt. He deserved no less. He molded himself to a pillar and listened hard. He hoped to hear Malik breathing. He, himself, breathed slowly to keep his breathing as quietly as possible. He crept an agonizing step to the left. The woof of the pillar snagged his robe. He froze. He waited. He ached. He chose to step and turn back to his original safe shadow.

The point of open steel met his throat.

Malik met Altaïr's eyes evenly. _This is it. This is payment._ Altaïr closed his eyes. The flat of the blade broadly slammed onto the top of his head, "OWE!"

"Serves you right, Altaïr. Stupid novice out here with no weapon. You had ample chance to get a proper weapon." Malik's words were the familiar caustic tone.

Altaïr found himself liking this familiarity. "So we switch to swords them?"

The afternoon tore at their sore bodies. The sparring went on for hours. Several times Malik managed to strike the blade from Altaïr's left hand. Altaïr countered with his right. They circled one another, tunics soaked. The sweat made their hair stick to their faces and drip in little rivulets down their arms. Malik was still better, but Altaïr was a better survivor when really pushed to the edge. Clearly Malik intended to see how far he could push Altaïr. It was a mistake. Altaïr had more stamina. Altaïr earned his first victory against Malik in wrestling when they fought till they lost their blades and resorted to crude fighting. Malik was too tired to fight back with all he had.

Malik was also a sore loser according to what Altaïr remembered. They ate in silence that night. Altaïr poked his food distractedly. "Malik? Am I ready?"

"No." The statement hurt as much as any blow. "But you will be."

Altaïr looked up from his food. Malik spread out the map between them. They went over the plan to take out Robert de Sable over and over with all possible back-up plans and escape routes. Malik reminded Altaïr that they were no longer the Ismailis suicide hunters. "Kill him and get out."

"Have we, Brothers and Nizari, really stepped away from that?" Altaïr asked sceptically.

"I prefer shadows and daggers to political suicide. These targets have nothing to do with their politics but someone's agenda. Do it and then find out whose agenda and why. You need to be alive for that. Altaïr, this is not meant to be your last mission."

Altaïr considered this while he ate and stared at the map. "How do you know?"

"I… just don't die out there is all," snapped Malik. He stood and stormed off.

* * *

A/N #2 – shadows and daggers… my version of hide and seek. I figured I would do that instead of a fight scene since I suck at the fight scenes. Maybe I will challenge myself in the next Altaïr chapter with a fight scene to practice.

A/N #3 - Ismailis and Nizari were the original sects of the assassins on which AC was based.


	194. Chapter 194: Malik Tickles

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – I have waited 194 chapters for this art to be ready to use! And ARRGGHH! The artist has moved it to storage! It was a perfect picture. Malik was tickling Altaïr to death. It was amazing. *cries* sorry I cannot link it here for you all. If the artist is reading my fic… please reinstate your awesome picture!

* * *

"I… just don't die out there is all," snapped Malik. He stood and stormed off. He ground his teeth as much as he ground his heel into the dust while trying to calm his emotions. He and Altaïr had started to get along better. There was so much hope and promise. The mortality of this coming mission gave Malik more anxiety than he wanted.

Altaïr needed to be ready. Needed to be ready enough to survive. His earlier plot now became a necessity.

They both slept poorly that night. It was easier to wake to Altaïr's night terrors when the man shared your blanket. Malik only wished Altaïr would share his emotions, let them out instead of burying them inside. It never really occurred to Malik how hypocritical he was, since he too buried his emotions from Altaïr. It only told Malik how much trust they both had yet to earn. There was trust, genuine trust, but every unconscious flinch reminded Malik how fragile that trust was. _He is the wounded eagle of Masyaf._

To distract himself, Malik dug out his current notebook for training and jotted some thoughts. _Know thyself. Know thy enemy. Know the world._ Their Order spent so much time trying to know the enemy that they sometimes completely missed who the real enemy was. They barely considered the self at all. You learned the world as a tool not as the result. Malik made some notes about self-development in the training of future members. He then added the need to acquire the armour and weapons of the enemy in order to understand these so one may fight them more efficiently. This was the tactic he intended to employ soon with Altaïr.

Altaïr stirred, tensed, the sound of rising panic in his breathing alerted Malik of yet another night terror. He called Altaïr's name a few times to break the cycle. Altaïr moved closer and buried his face between Malik's shoulder blades. An arm snaked around Malik's middle and clutched him tight. Muffled murmurs of falling or drowning coaxed a few soothing words from Malik. He then returned to his notebook.

_What are the roles in the Brotherhood? The hunters, assassins as we are called. The dai. The informants. The researchers and scribes. The doctors. Everyone else is support. What do we all get in common? Basin training in unarmed combat, basic blade work with a knife, accuracy in throwing knives, training in how to hide, blend in and pick pockets. We all get an education in mathematics, languages, religions of the area, map reading, read and writing, philosophy. We all learn to gather information and log it. We all learn to write some code. What else? Riding, simple healing and self-healing, and… survival? We all learn to read people so we can tell the innocents from the targets. _

Malik sighed as he considered all these basics and realized what he had been remiss in Junayd and Naheem's training. Not Junayd's actually. Junayd would get all these basics mentored with the informants here in Jerusalem. Naheem, however, missed out. Malik had been so focused on Altaïr that he had forgotten how much more Naheem needed training.

_If Naheem will be a dai, what is the role of a dai and what will he need to know? The dai are infiltrators. He needs to master blending in. He needs to master flexible religious identity. He needs more formal education. I suppose I could send him to the old man part of the day to learn as I was learning. Dai need to have a trade skill or merchant skill. I think Naheem has that naturally. He can do beautiful as well as functional maps. And maybe he could do portraits. But will he know how to spot trouble? Will he know how to identify potential candidates for the Brotherhood. How can I possibly teach him that? He hardly even knows what we are, really._

Malik sighed heavily, then he yawned. It was almost morning. He shifted and rolled a little till he was on his belly to make the last few notes. Altaïr mumbled plaintively, and tried to get closer to Malik's left side where a gap had caused chill night air to rush in. "Altaïr!" Malik shoved him suddenly. The scratchiness of the several days stubble had roughly rubbed against his stumpy arm. Malik sputtered and snapped unintelligibly about the stubble and need to shave.

At first, Altaïr was startled, ready to fight or defend, slightly disoriented by the sudden awakening. Malik behaved exactly as he did when Altaïr put a handful of large spiders in his bed for fun. The expressions and the memory drew out a smirk, then a chortle, and then a laugh.

"You think that was funny? I'll give you something to laugh about!" Malik pounced Altaïr. He dug his wriggling fingers into all those spots he had been waiting to deal out true torture to as he tickled Altaïr into breathless teary laugher, gasping and begging for Malik to stop. "Not till you say your mine!" It was the standard vow for such torture.

"I'm yours! I swear… I am yours Malik! I have always been yours!" gasped Altaïr.

Malik stopped suddenly. He felt like his own breath had been sucked from him. He just held Altaïr, held him tighter than was necessary as Altaïr calmed from his fits of laughter. _I am yours. I have always been yours._ The words echoed in Malik's mind.

"You need to shave." Malik wasn't sure how he wanted to handle this. He reluctantly released Altaïr who seemed just as reluctant to leave Malik's embrace.

* * *

A/N #2 – art for ch.192

http:/ ssimanime .deviantart .com /#/d32v2ft

A/N #3 – fan art for Tibah:

http:/ jpeeper .deviantart .com /#/d32w3r5


	195. Chapter 195: Altair's Surprise

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Been a rough sleepless week. We expect snow to fall this weekend. Lend to the desire to make cold kills, hope you enjoy. And I hope my French in this chapter is not too horrible.

* * *

"You need to shave." Malik wasn't sure how he wanted to handle this. He reluctantly released Altaïr who seemed to be just as reluctant to leave Malik's embrace.

Altaïr and Malik stared at each other like they each wanted to say something. The long pause and stare grew more and more awkward. They both tore their eyes from the other. Malik rolled over to try to get a little more sleep. Altaïr slipped away over the rail and down to the area that they used for waste. He sat on a barrel and shaved carefully. His confidence with the little knife showed in his steadiness.

After a quick and icy wash with a cloth, he poured his energy back into training. Hours later he caught a glimpse of Malik leaning over the rail above watching him. He kept moving smoothly through the fighting forms, ignoring the heat that rose in his cheeks.

Malik brought down some breakfast, meager as it was for the end of their rations. They sat and discussed the problems ahead. Altaïr needed work on his precision with the blades. "I do not rely on brute strength," he countered Malik's criticism.

"Then why does it take you ten times more strikes to hit the target?" Malik spat acidly.

Altaïr growled, "Don't exaggerate. You are no better." He regretted that last bit knowing Malik was the better swordsman and seeing Malik's eyebrow raise indignantly.

"Very well, then we will work on your precision. And mine later too if you so insist." Malik removed his black robe and even his tabard. He retrieved their weaponry and lined it all up neatly on an overturned church pew. His red sash blindfolded Altaïr once Altaïr was likewise minimally dressed.

"Hey!"

"Bind fighting is the proof of a master with the blades. I promise, I will prove that to you later." Altaïr never saw Malik's smirk, but he heard it in the tone of Malik's voice.

If Altaïr calmed and focused, he could heard Malik's heartbeat, his every step. Sometimes, he even saw the shimmer of blue in his mind's eyes that was Malik's form. The second he doubted those senses, Malik's blade caught him. The sweat stung in the small cuts that Malik's blade made, as if Altaïr has been cut by paper. As much as Altaïr grumbled about this being torture, it helped him think and focus better. It sharpened his senses and awareness. It forced him to slow down and think where he was striking till he could let go of the thinking and move with grace again.

Panting, they felt each other's breath when their blade slid along the flats till the hilt crashed together. "Very… very good, Altaïr…. Maybe you do have the potential to be a master swordsman after all."

"And you called me arrogant?" Their fight renewed its energy as Altaïr showed Malik just how much more stamina he had. The well placed foot hooking and ankle with a very precise twist of the hilt proved Altaïr wrong as he landed hard on his back, his blade skittering across the floor. He ripped off the blindfold to find Malik standing over him, sword pointed to his throat. Altaïr chuffed and turned his head admitting his defeat.

Altaïr watched as Malik cleaned himself up then filled a basin for Altaïr to wash from. As Malik dressed in his full dai robes, Altaïr gave him a quizzical look. "I'll be back. Keep training. I'll bring back something to give you a little advantage over these Templars." It did answer Altaïr's unspoken questions and clearly Malik was not going to. Altaïr wanted to tell him to be careful, but after being defeated by Malik, he thought it best not to say anything at all and just try to trust him instead.

Malik's absence gave Altaïr a chance to vent in a variety of ways. It also gave him a chance to sit quiet and finish reading through the journals. Malik sat on his heels in front of Altaïr for a moment when he returned. "I have brought you the armour of a Templar so you can find all its weaknesses." Altaïr gave him the most puzzled look, for how the hell did Malik manage that?

"Assassin… Tu ne peut pas cacher ici. Je te trouverais." An unfamiliar French voice was heard calling from the main floor of the ruined church.

At Altaïr's glare of surprise at Malik, Malik replied with a slight shrug, "You might have to get him out of that armour first. Think you can handle that?" Altaïr responded with a feral grin. _Let the hunt begin!_

Malik stayed out of sight so as not to give away what side he actually was on. Altaïr moved like a silent prowling cat from shadow to beam to rafter.

The Templar drew his sword and cautiously crept further into the ruined church. Malik kept hidden masterfully. Altaïr let the Templar explore without intervention, even let the Templar discover where he had recently been eating and reading and planning. The Templar cursed about having missed the assassin.

The corner of Altaïr mouth turned up as he slammed the bean back into place across the main door, effectively locking the Templar in with him. There was some small pleasure as seeing the man jump. This was followed by blaspheming the name of god in stream with cursing the assassin, by name. The Templars knew Altaïr was coming for Robert. This Templar obviously thought he stood a fair chance as he challenged Altaïr to open combat. The Templar had good weapons and certainly greater armour.

Altaïr had the advantage of knowing the area intimately, being lighter on his feet, having speed on his side. That did not mean this would be an easy fight by any means. Malik took a risk. What if Altaïr was not ready to even take out a lower ranked Templar? _Well, if I can't then Robert is out of my league. For Kadar… for Malik… I cannot allow that to happen. I must be able to take them out._ He tried not to think about how maybe he should have started with a city guard and then worked up through crusaders then to Templars. It was then odd to think all that. A couple years ago, he would have looked down on this lower ranked Templar wondering why he was wasting his time on such easy targets.

This Templar was by no means easy. He was decently trained, well armoured and cautious. Altaïr would almost say he was seasoned. "J'ai tué deux assassins avant toi!" bragged the Templar. "Et six novices… petits demons."

Altaïr stepped into the open, ignoring Malik's face and palm clapping together in despair. His golden eyes smoldered fiery amber. "Et moi, L'aigle de Masyaf, Maître des _Assassins_," Altaïr used the twisted word the Templars had for his Order. "J'ai tué plusieurs Templiers." Altaïr took a step closer. "Et, Templier, tue est dans MA place à pratique. Tu est déjà mort!"

Blades clashed. Sword hit armour, over and over without penetrating. Altaïr charged and dodged. He hit and bounced back. It looked impossibly to get through the armour. But he was wearing the Templar down. Hot mid-day. Heavy plate armour. Intense fight for your life. Every hit told Altaïr more about the dimensions and sturdiness of the armour. Every strike tore free secrets of the chinks and weak points.

But Altaïr was not a cruel man. When the fight wore down and Altaïr was fairly certain he knew most of the gaps in the armour, he leapt and pinned the Templar to the ground. Malik was already taking the rickety stairs two at a time to join him. He looked up at the Malik for a second then slid the point of his dagger under the rim of the Templar's helm till the point touched flesh.

* * *

A/N #2 – I know I know… you are all asking how did Malik do it? Read it in the next chapter! *grin*

A/N #3 – guess you might want the French translations…

"Assassin… You cannot hide here. I will find you." An unfamiliar French voice was heard calling from the main floor of the ruined church.

… … …

This Templar was by no means easy. He was decently trained, well armoured and cautious. Altaïr would almost say he was seasoned. "I have killed two assassins before you!" bragged the Templar. "And six novices… little demons."

Altaïr stepped into the open, ignoring Malik's face and palm clapping together in despair. His golden eyes smoldered fiery amber. "And I, the Eagle of Masyaf, Master of the _Assassins_," Altaïr used the twisted word the Templars had for his Order. "I have killed many Templars." Altaïr took a step closer. "And, Templar, You are in my place of practice. You are already dead!"


	196. Chapter 196: Malik: Hindsight

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Most mistakes are realized only in hindsight.

* * *

Altaïr was not a cruel man. When the fight wore down and Altaïr was fairly certain he knew most of the gaps in the armour, he leapt and pinned the Templar to the ground. Malik was already taking the rickety stairs two at a time to join him. He looked up at the Malik for a second then slid the point of his dagger under the rim of the Templar's helm till the point touched flesh.

Malik was pleased with himself for this achievement. He successfully lured a Templar here to test Altaïr and to figure out the Templar defenses.

_The walk outside was a good change. Malik breathed in the dusty hot air. He adjusted the awkward bundle of rough maps and sketches he did to help with his cover. He mumbled through a few languages to get the feel of them in his mouth. He wasn't which Templars he would encounter. He didn't want a large mix of Templars, but maybe one or two alone._

_Aha! He found two guarding some crate of weapons. It must be duty changing time. This was perfect. He let his drawings slip and struggled to keep hold of them under his one arm. As one of the Templars approached to shoo Malik on his way, he dropped the sketches and maps with a quiet curse. These two Templars spoke French and Malik apologized to them in heavily accented broken French, despite his ability to be completely fluent. He would have to show this trick to Junayd._

_He convinced the Templars he was so glad to see them, he was frightened with all the rumours of assassins and now as he was surveying a building he thought he found one asleep for he could not explain why a white hooded man would sleep in this ruined building and have so many weapons around him. Malik tried to stammer to show fear. _

_The two Templars could not check it out together as one would have to stay to guard the crate. Perfect. Malik was instructed to guide the other to this ruined building. They didn't feel the need to extract the location out of Malik, seeing Malik clearly not as a threat of any kind. He was promised a reward for his courage to bring this to their attention. He asked if he had to come in and if it would be safe after for him to finish his survey. The Templar assured him that one sleeping assassin was no trouble for him._

_Malik stayed hidden as he bolted the door behind him, locking the Templar inside. Surprise Altaïr, I have a present for you! Malik felt very proud of his deception. This worked much better than trying to steal pieces of armour from sleeping Templars. Those damnable men never seemed to sleep._

When Malik reached the bottom of the stairs, he gasped aloud. He had run into a fog that rose suddenly out of nowhere. All the hairs on his arm and neck rose. The air was chill and the surroundings simply vanished. He dared not move with this strange sorcery. Altaïr and the Templar and a scrap of floor were all that could be seen. Altaïr's golden eyes still held Malik locked in their gaze.

Malik could smell something in this fog. Somehow, he knew it was fear. The Templar began to beg for mercy, that he was tricked, lured. Altaïr explained that the Templar was not his target, but by insisting on trying to kill him, will meet the fate of one with honour and respect. The Templar again begged that he was only doing as ordered. "Aren't we all," Altaïr told him sadly. "Go to your god in peace." The knife slid swiftly up, under the man's jaw and deeper till his body shuddered in death. Malik watched as Altaïr removed the helm and closed the man's eyes.

Malik finally blinked. The fog was instantly gone as if it were never there. Altaïr cleaned his knife, "Are you going to help me get him out of the armour?"

Malik's mouth moved but no sound came out till he cleared his throat in an attempt to answer Altaïr. Instead, he asked his questions. "What sorcery was THAT?"

Altaïr froze. "You… saw? I wanted you to see, but I didn't think…"

Malik reigned in his anxiety and shock. He knew that if he showed those to Altaïr, it would be confirming that Altaïr was an inhuman freak. It would break the fragile trust they had built. "He was so afraid." Malik changed the subject a little.

"I know. I can feel that, smell it, taste it. Sibrand was no different. I question the choosing of my targets. Some, feel innocent, like this one. Malik? Don't do this again. You are not God playing chess with the pawns even if they are Templar lives."

It was a short reprimand thick with emotions. He understood. Altaïr not only felt the man's fear, but the man's death. In that moment in the fog, the souls knew each other intimately. It would stay with Altaïr forever, as the others have, to haunt his dreams. Malik simply nodded and walked over to help Altaïr remove the armour and dispose of the body.

* * *

A/N #2 – Sorry if the chapter production is slowing down. I am at the end of my school term and need to get homework cranked out before chapters.


	197. Chapter 197: Altair: Out of Time

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Fell behind due to sleep deprivation from yowling kitty. Sorry everyone. Speaking of falling… Malik makes a fine turtle. *wink*

* * *

Malik simply nodded and walked over to help Altaïr remove the armour and dispose of the body. Altaïr disposed of the body while Malik struggled to don the Templar armour. The goal was after all to spar with Altaïr and help him know every weakness this armour could reveal.

Altaïr returned to see Malik teeter a little. He raised a brow and shook his head. This was a bad idea as far as Altaïr was concerned. But, he figured he would at least humour Malik's effort. Maybe Malik was right. Malik was right about most things. Maybe this will help find some extra weakness, some secret to give Altaïr the advantage. He walked by and plunked the helmet over Malik's head. A muffled curse from under the crooked helm drew a smirk from Altaïr, who hid it with a tug of his hood.

They were evenly matched in height, though now Malik matched Altaïr's fortitude and breadth. Wooden stick swords were raised and the sparring began. Heavy armour made for slower movements. However, it offered better resistance to blows, even if you felt like your head got trapped in the gong of the church bell when struck over the helm. Profuse cursing informed Altaïr of this fact and he noted it for later use. He waited for Malik's ears to stop ringing and for him to regain balance from the head blow.

Without such armour, dressed as a master assassin, Altaïr moved with greater speed, greater dexterity, greater precision. His blows to the metal armour glanced off over and over. In a flurry of frustration, he pinned Malik to the wall taking out some buried rage. Malik slapped him with the steel gauntlet, "Stay focused!" Altaïr reeled from the hit. He made yet another mental note to not get close enough for that again. His tongue trailed over his teeth to make sure they were all still there, then over the lip that split from the steel slap.

Another close call brought stars to his eyes. Malik was still a good fighter, even in the unwieldy armour. The blurred vision of Malik in Templar armour brought out a startled yell and a wild swing from Altaïr as he used it to beat a hasty retreat and shake the old nightmare from his mind. Maybe this was a bad idea after all.

A loud slam and clatter on the upper level caused them both to turn suddenly. "AHH! A Templar!" yelled Naheem who let fly an accurate throwing knife in an attempt to give Altaïr a chance to run or distract the Templar enough for Altaïr to deal it a deadly blow.

Malik cringed in the armour at the shockingly precise throw as the little dagger stabbed in through the helm's grill and stooped at the hilt, the point a bare centimeter from Malik's face. He stagerged backwards and fell flat on his back. Altaïr ran forward, "Naheem no! NO! It's Malik! Malik is in the armour!"

A panicked squeak escaped Naheem who thundered down the stairs as fast as he could. Altaïr dropped down and ripped the throwing knife out of the helm them pulled the helm off of Malik's head. "I'm alright!" Malik called. Altaïr let out a great sigh of relief and turned on Naheem. The two exchanged frantic words and apologies and reprimands. "Will you two novices SHUT UP!" Malik snarled at them.

They turned to see Malik flailing on the floor in the armour. At their confusion, Malik flailed more, unable to manoeuvre in the heavy armour to get back up. Trapped on the floor he yelled incoherently before yelling at them to help him up. Naheem could not help laughing. "Get me the hell up or I swear! I swear I will make you clean out the WASTE SHOOT!" It was the worst novice torture he could think of and Altaïr knew it. Having suffered said punishment several times for various transgressions in Masyaf, he knew that punishment all too well.

They helped Malik to his feet and then out of the armour as he snapped venomously at them both in his fouled mood finally demanding what dared Naheem to come here before the training was done.

"Robert de Sable is in Jerusalem. The funeral day and time is officially announced for tomorrow at noon."

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A/N #2 – short, I know. But I like ending with something to make everyone swallow hard as we can imagine Malik and Altair just did.


	198. Chapter 198: Malik Dreads Fate

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – That blind-folded fight scene a couple chapters back has a picture:

http:/ yaoi. y-gallery. net /view/654856/

* * *

"Robert de Sable is in Jerusalem. The funeral day and time is officially announced for tomorrow at noon."

Any emotion that might have played on Altaïr's face vanished into stoicism. Training and anything akin to fun was over. Malik cursed enough for all three of them about Robert arriving early. Once they helped Malik out of what he now considered totally hateful armour. Malik snapped out several orders for Naheem to clean up all traces of their training. Altaïr was ordered to make the armour disappear. He packed all traces of their sleeping and living here. They were done in nearly an hour. It was a rush. "This place is never to be used again. More than the dead Templar knows there was an assassin sleeping in it."

Altaïr growled at him and he ignored it. That was the price for some things. They ran over rooftops from building to building. Malik simply swallowed his pride and allowed himself to be pulled up now and then by Altaïr. At a discreet location, Malik continued on the ground. It was faster for them all that way.

The whole city was abuzz with the preparations. Altaïr had no choice, he needed to be ready. Malik silently worried. His worry grew throughout the afternoon while they studied maps and reviewed the plan to take out Robert, currently head of all the Templars, and probably the largest and most dangerous target Altaïr had ever ended. Robert would be waiting, anticipating. They already knew someone had leaked the information. Robert knew it would be Altaïr coming for him.

Malik prayed it would not be a repeat of Solomon's Temple. He prayed Altaïr had enough inner strength to not do anything stupid or suicidal. That night they argued furiously. Altaïr snarled in low growls that he was NOT a novice and didn't need to be handles like one. Malik yelled that he was arrogant and foolish sometimes.

Naheem covered his ears and hoped it did not come to blows. Fed up, Naheem threw a book at each of them. They stopped and glared dangerously at him. He whispered fiercely, "Will you two both shut the hell up before the whole world knows what we are doing." He huffed and picked up his drawing items to sit in the main room by candlelight. Altaïr stormed out and threw himself onto the carpets and pillows in the growing moonlight. Naheem sketched Altaïr while Malik hid away all the journals. The night felt thick with tension and made for poor sleep for all.

Malik's pride prevented him from going out to Altaïr. Altaïr's insecurity and inner shame prevented him from going in to Malik. Naheem felt caught in the middle. Naheem woke Malik and sat cross legged beside Malik's bed. "Master Malik? Master Malik?" Malik sat up, though he had not really been asleep. "How dangerous is Robert de Sable? Who is he to our cause, really? Why must Master Altaïr take him out?" The questions tumbled out of him in a single breath.

Malik touched Naheem's lips to quiet him before more questions tumbled forth. Malik could see them on the tip of Naheem's thoughts. "Robert de Sable is the most dangerous man that I know. He stands almost a head taller than Altaïr and easily much broader of shoulder. He is a giant of a man who moves as easily in his heavy armour as we do with nothing." He quieted, remembering the time in Solomon's temple. "Altaïr could not defeat him the first time we encountered him. It was in Solomon's temple when we were on mission to retrieve a treasure from him. He almost knew we were there before we arrived. He was ready for us." That admission gave Malik pause for thought. "Altaïr was literally thrown clear through scaffolding in the temple and cut off from my brother and I. The other Templar," Malik stammered, "the… they killed Kadar, but not before he could toss the treasure to me. Robert almost ended me there too. The fragility of the temple was my advantage. I lost my brother to Robert and his men, and my arm. So much foolishness. If more care had been taken," Malik could not finish the thought.

"Robert de Sable is the head of the Templars as we know them. He is… dangerous. Altaïr, because of who and what he is, because of what he can do that no other can… Altaïr may be the only one who can stop him. Robert de Sable aims to conquer, to control all of the Middle East and wipe away our free will to create some twisted notion of a perfect world. We cannot allow him to do this. We cannot let him live to attempt it. We must not let him get the treasure, the piece Eden, or he will do just that. For now it is safe in Masyaf under Al Mualim's careful watch. But if Altaïr does not take out Robert, that Templar will surely come back to Masyaf for it. He already had followed my blood trail there. He knows where we are. Altaïr cannot afford any mistakes."

"Will Master Altaïr make it back?"

Malik dared not voice the answer, the truth as he knew it. Altaïr was not ready. Altaïr was still healing both physically and emotionally, though it was the emotional side that concerned Malik most right now. Malik swallowed hard trying to find the words to reassure Naheem without lying to him.

Naheem saw the truth written in Malik's and shook his head disbelieving. He bolted out of the room to where Altaïr lay pretending to be asleep.

Malik covered his eyes with his hand. Dragging those memories to the surface choked Malik, "Kadar…" Kadar's fate could easily become Altaïr's.

* * *

A/N #2 – sketchy art for the last line:

http:/ the-evil-legacy .deviantart .com /art/AC-Sadness-147262389


	199. Chapter 199: Altair's Apology

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Conference planning hell and homework hell swallowed me for a while. Chapters will be slow for December. I am writing exams and end of term papers.

* * *

Naheem saw the truth written in Malik's eyes and shook his head disbelieving. He bolted out of the room to where Altaïr lay pretending to be asleep. He dared not wake the sleeping assassin, especially for something so selfish as wanting to spend a little more time with him. He chose instead to sit as close and as quiet as he could, holding a kind of vigil, praying that these two men would not part on ill terms, praying for Altaïr's safe return from a successful mission.

Altaïr rolled over in the thick silence. Moonlight illuminated the youth beside him. He had never thought silence to be so disturbing before now, so he gave up some sleep and sat up. Naheem's sudden hug, nearly toppled him again. Having overheard Malik's talk with Naheem, Altaïr felt worried about the mission tomorrow. He hugged Naheem in return. "I am proud of you, all you have accomplished and all you have chosen. Try not to worry about my mission. It will give me more strength to know you have faith in me."

"I have always had faith in you, Master Altaïr. You are my hero in the small and big ways, remember?"

Naheem's words brought a small smile to Altaïr's lips. "Don't let Malik's pessimism get you down. He's had a long time to be sour and has perhaps forgotten how to believe…" He wanted to say, 'believe in me,' but didn't think he really deserved that considering all the stupid and horrible things over the last few years. "Do you think… if I asked for his forgiveness, he would…" Altaïr shrugged as he spoke, sheepish and uncertain and feeling very odd asking the advice of his novice.

Naheem looked him in the eye and spoke with naked honesty, "Why don't you go in there and find out?"

Altaïr felt too nervous. "In the morning, before I head out." It was a promise more to himself than to Naheem. In case he didn't come back alive, he wanted to make sure he at least tried to apologize. So many thoughts of what he could have done or should have done or wished he had more time to do filled his dreams.

_Walking down the street, he lifted the end of Malik's sleeve. Malik did not seem to notice the shadow that followed and clung to him. He whispered that he was sorry to Malik as they walked, but he wasn't heard. They sat upon a bench as Malik sipped a cup of some beverage. Lifting the hem of Malik's sleeve to his face, the tears brimming in his eyes, he said he was sorry yet again. But Malik again never noticed. Malik seemed oblivious to his presence. Inside the Bureau, Malik began removing his robes to take a bath. The echoes of Malik's demand to touch his stump surfaced in Altaïr's mind. From behind Malik, he hesitantly touched the bandaged stump. He leaned his brow against the back of Malik's shoulder as his tears sped down his cheeks. He choked out another apology that fell on deaf ears. The scene played like this over and over with the same outcome._

Altaïr woke at dawn with his stomach in knots. He hadn't really slept. He washed up and dressed, checking his armour and weapons carefully. He watched Malik come around the counter offering the feather he needed for his kill. Shame filled Altaïr's eyes and he hid it under his hood. He took the feather from Malik's fingers wanting desperately to feel them comforting him, reassuring him. He fidgeted from foot to foot. "Malik… Before I go, there is something I must say." Now he started, he dared not stop or he would never do it.

"What is it, Brother?" There was no caustic tone in Malik's voice as Altaïr would have expected.

Altaïr swallowed then took a deep breath. "I've been a fool."

Malik seemed confused, though since Altaïr refused to look at the dai, he never saw the expression. "Normally I would make no argument, but what is this? What are you talking about?"

"All this time," Altaïr began, needing to swallow again as his voice came out hoarse and thick with the building emotion. "All this time, I never told you I was… sorry… too damned proud." He swallowed the shake that threatened his voice and scrunched his eyes in the shadow of his hood to prevent them from spilling over. "You lost your arm because of me, lost Kadar."

Malik stiffened. "I do not accept your apology."

Altaïr figured as much. It was exactly as he expected, exactly as he felt he deserved. At least he tried, even if his apology was not worth much in comparison to what he was apologizing about. "I understand." It came as a bare whisper. He turned away aiming to make his escape and start his mission.

"No," Malik tugged him back towards him. "You don't understand." He knew the fragility of the moment and how tired Altaïr must be from working himself up to this apology. "I do not accept your apology because you are not the same man that went with me into Solomon's Temple. So _you_ have nothing to apologize for."

Surprised and incredulous, Altaïr didn't know what to say or how to react. "Malik…"

Malik rested a hand on Altaïr's shoulder, "Perhaps if I had not been so envious of you, I would not have gotten so careless myself. I am just as much to blame."

"Don't say such things," Altaïr shook his head, voice shaking a little.

Malik tried to fill his words with all the reassurance he could muster, "We are one, Altaïr. As we share the glory of victory, so too should we share the pain of defeat. In this we grow closer, we grow stronger."

Altaïr did not feel very strong. His legs felt like they could no longer hold him up. His chest hurt and felt like it would burst. He sank down to his knees, clutching the edges of Malik's black robe. The tears made their way over the contours of his cheeks. He barely choked out, "Thank you, Malik."

With a small smile, Malik murmured an Arabic proverb, "Forgiveness is more satisfying than revenge." Malik wished he had a second hand to push off the hood and caress Altaïr's hair. "You are tired, my friend. Why don't you rest that you might be prepared for what lies ahead?"

* * *

A/N #2 – art, art, and more art… in order of appearance in the chapter…

http:/ kidavi .deviantart .com /art/I-m-sorry- 151963817

http:/ kidavi. Deviantart .com /art/I-m-Sorry- 155219368

http:/ dk-ren .deviantart .com /art/Altair-I-m-sorry- 170378263

http:/ himlayan. deviantart. com/art/AC-Forgiveness- 186953371


	200. Chapter 200: Malik: Shoo Naheem

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – We have SNOW here in Montreal! Hope everyone's end-of-term work and exams are going well. Good luck to you all.

* * *

With a small smile, Malik murmured an Arabic proverb, "Forgiveness is more satisfying than revenge." Malik wished he had a second hand to push off the hood and caress Altaïr's hair. "You are tired, my friend. Why don't you rest that you might be prepared for what lies ahead?"

Malik lead Altaïr back under the open lattice roof to lie on the carpets. The morning sun barely dappled the room. He sat down and coaxed Altaïr to come rest. Altaïr got himself comfortable and shyly rested his head and hands over Malik's thigh. Malik pushed back the hood now and combed his fingers through Altaïr's feather soft hair till the assassin truly found sleep.

Naheem snuck to the roof to block Junayd from disturbing the rare tranquil scene. The two flopped in a dusty shady spot on the roof and exchanged news. Junayd promised to find a good spot to watch the funeral from so he could tell Naheem how it all went. Naheem tried to warn him not to, but Junayd would not listen. "Informants need to be able to do this, to be invisible eyes so the dai can know the truth of what is happening."

Naheem wanted to know too badly to really argue with Junayd. The younger hurried off to find his hiding spot and dig in to watch the funeral and hopefully the assassination. Naheem peaked in to see Altaïr still asleep on Malik's thigh. The expression on Malik's face seemed so sad.

He quietly gathered his sketch material and hurried to his lessons in drafting, trying to not think about what was going to happen today. Sometimes the role of a dai is to make sure no one suspects you are anything other than what you present to the world. Naheem presented a limping apprentice to a map making uncle, he presented a student of the art of line and drafting that he may be better at map making in the future, he harboured a gift of drawing the organic world with innocent appreciation and wonderment. The many other more dangerous or deceptive elements of his life the world would never know or see.

A stray thought wandered and wondered about Tibah. He supposed she would either have to be kept in the dark somehow, or be part of his deception. A second more on that thought reminded him of her perceptive skills and decided him on her total and completely involvement. After all, how the hell was he going to heal people. He barely knew a thing about medicine beyond basic care.

By the time Naheem returned to the Bureau, Altaïr had already left for the mission. Malik threw himself into the most complicated mapping he could find. This was always his most hated time… the waiting. Naheem though about telling Malik about Junayd spying, but then reconsidered. It might only make Malik worry about two people. Instead, he invaded Malik's space hearing the _tch!_ of annoyance. "The architect master insisted I show you what I have accomplished so far and requests a letter of commentary." Naheem hoped he lied as smoothly as Junayd.

The lie went unnoticed as one as Malik's shoulders relaxed and he took up the book of drafting sketches. He flipped through them very slowly nodding to himself or hmm-ing now and then. "Very well done, Novice Naheem. I'll write that letter sometime tonight. I will want to look them over more carefully to provide a proper commentary." He closed up the drafting book. "Why don't you get some food in the market and find Tibah. Remind her you are still interested in her and that you are both still betrothed."

Naheem's cheeks turned pink. He shifted his weight off his sore leg, which now toed the ground shyly. "I, uh, thought that maybe… maybe I should stay here with you." He shrugged uncertainly.

Malik narrowed his eyes. "I do not need a novice being a mother hen over me. GO! Get out before I throw you out!"

Naheem would have been shocked or hurt by the outburst had he not seen the smirk on his mentor's lips.

"Naheem, go. I prefer to handle this in some privacy. And you need, really need, to try to have some normal relationship to strengthen your position here. She's very smart and very cute. Go on and enjoy that. And remember to keep your hands and lips to yourself." Malik chuckled at Naheem aghast look. "And say hello to her brother Kadar and wish him and his beloved well for me." Malik made a shooing motion with his hand to encourage the teen out.

Naheem gathered up another set of personal sketching supplies and a little money to do as he was bade to.

* * *

A/N #2 – Here is a great picture from the sparring sessions in the old church… courtesy of doubleleaf!

http:/ doubleleaf .deviantart .com /art/Malik-Kick-189170417


	201. Chapter 201: Altair: Set Up

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – been writing a paper for school… still doing that, but felt I needed a change of head space and you all needed to see some Altaïr.

* * *

Naheem gathered up another set of personal sketching supplies and a little money to do as he was bade to.

The world outside was hot, dry and especially dusty today. Altaïr felt he would never see his robes really white again; he was the same off yellow as all the other stone buildings. Even when he shook himself hard, the white was not truly white.

Malik had forgiven him.

Malik had called him friend and meant it.

Those two things comforted him, strengthened him. Even though he had said this would not be about vengeance, he was doing some of it for Malik, for Kadar. It wasn't vengeance. It was justice.

_Be my sword, Altaïr. Remember the Creed. Strike swift and true. Be invisible. And come back to me. _

These were Malik's last words. Altaïr stopped in a sunny spot on a tall roof. He soaked in the warmth and sipped from his canteen. Altaïr felt comfortable with death today. He would deal it out to one he believed deserved it. And if he died doing so, he was comfortable with that too. That feeling allowed him to be detached from what he must do.

The shadow of an eagle in flight drew Tibah's eyes to a roof to track Altaïr's passing. Almost by instinct both her and her father stepped from their stall, in different directions, to hawk their wares and distract two guards who noticed the shadow too but could not yet locate the roof runner. _Be safe Great Eagle. May the Angels watch over you._

Altaïr had to be extra careful with every movement. The city of Jerusalem was crawling with guards and with Crusaders and Templars. You couldn't spit without hitting one or another. In an effort to preserve his throwing daggers, since all the thugs were in hiding and could not thus be pilfered from, Altaïr chose to either avoid roof guards and archers or sneak up and stab them directly. This latter tactic allowed him to hide the bodies and not alert street traffic of his actions.

The Creed echoed over and over in his mind. Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent. Hide in plain sight. Never compromise the Brotherhood. It took him hours to make his way across the city. He never spotted Robert de Sable, though. He had hoped to maybe luck out and deal with the foul man while he was en route to the funeral. That would have been too easy. In a way, his travel to the funeral site seemed too easy already. His skin prickled with the wrongness. He ground his teeth and told himself that he would just have to deal because he would not get another chance like this, even if they were waiting for him.

As he peaked over the edge of a building he saw the crowd. Peasants, villagers, merchants, nobles, scholars, clergy all gathered and even filled the stairways and down some of the streets. He could hide among the scholars or priests to get closer. That was an option. But could he get close enough? In his mind he reviewed his escape route and considered the more subtle means of attracting attention then running and hiding to pick off the enemies a few at a time till he could get to Robert. No, he wanted to save that as his last option.

Killing Robert in front of this whole crowd would make a resoundingly clear and loud statement.

Altaïr dropped down to street level and drifted through the crowd invisibly till he reached some scholars who helped get him closer, but not quite close enough. Not close enough for a throwing knife, though that would not penetrate the Templar armour anyways. A pallbearer recites a prayer in front of a grave. "We gather here, today, to mourn the loss of our beloved Majd Addin - taken too soon from this world."

Altaïr thinks to himself how sick this is. _These people have such short memories of the horror and cruelty of the man they are now praising in death._

Robert de Sable stands prominently beside the pallbearer. The crowd raise their voices loudly, "AMEN." Robert's eyes scan the crowd in search of something or someone. Altaïr ducks behind the nearest wall corner out of sight, cursing to himself.

As the pallbearer speaks solemnly again, Altaïr inches back among a group of scholars. "I know you feel sorrow and pain at his passing, but you should not. For just as we are all brought forth from the womb; so too must we all, one day, pass from this world. It is only natural, like the rising and the setting of the sun. Take this moment to reflect on his life and give thanks for all the good he did." Altaïr kept his head bowed to hide his features while watching from the shadow of his hood. _What good? Ignorant fools._ "Know that, one day, we will stand with him again in Paradise," the pallbearer continues. The crowd all speak amen again.

Robert leans and speaks to the pallbearer. Altaïr takes a deep breath and allowed his vision to shift. So many shimmering red figures glow softly unaware of him. Yet, Altaïr's skin crawls in warning. He dares not retreat now. It might give him away. The red figures glow more brightly as Robert makes some gestures to them. They grip their weapons.

"As you know, this man was murdered," announces the pallbearer. "We have tried to track his killer, but it has proved difficult. These creatures cling to the shadows, and run from any who would face them fairly. But _not_ today, for it seems one stands among us! He mocks us with his presence, and must be made to pay! Seize him!" His angry yell is punctuated by his pointing directly at Altaïr.

_Camel shit!_

"Bring him forward; that God's justice might be done!" yells the pallbearer. Crowd folks, guards, crusaders and templars all turn to Altaïr.

He runs! He was completely set up. He should have known. His escape route was blocked by innocent people. Flails and shoves and stumbles. Strikes and cuts and blood. It was a graceless fleeing. He turned to take out a few and run again. He tumbled scaffolding to take out others and hoped innocent people were not in that path.

Robert was hot on Altaïr's heels, determined to catch him. Altaïr cursed at how fast this man was. He must have reduced his armour in order to have this advantage of speed. Cornered in a sea of blood and bodies, Altaïr fought. Robert joined the fray just as Altaïr's own strength was starting to wane.

* * *

A/N #2 – I still suck at fight scenes…


	202. Chapter 202: Courting

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Merry Yule everyone!

* * *

Robert joined the fray just as Altaïr's own strength was starting to wane.

Junayd ran with four other street kids trying to watch the ensuing battle. They had a great view from one roof till the white clad target retreated back through the streets with God's own hell on his heels. An Archer plucked and tossed the kids down to street level. They crashed through a fruit stall on their way down and scattered in five different directions.

Meanwhile, Naheem tried to feel confident about the mission and behave like a proper nephew and apprentice. He limped a little with the cane, but could easily do without it. The small smirk of warning he gave potential thugs saying that he knows just how to use it as a weapon to defend himself made him feel very good indeed when they avoided him. He wondered what really made them think he was not an easy target? Maybe the training he had with Altaïr showed a little? He wondered if that was bad. Malik used to let himself get beaten. Naheem frowned to himself. _Maybe he let himself get beaten because he thought somewhere inside that he deserved it? I don't think I need to get beaten to still play my role as a rafiq in training._

His confidence completely evaporated when he entered the market and Tibah smiled at him from her stall across the way. A goofy grin crept across his face and as he lifted his cane to wiggle his fingers at her, he stumbled. He quickly regained his balance, blushing. He blushed more when he saw Tibah's father also watching him, having noticed the shy goofiness and the stumble. Naheem wished the earth could swallow him this very moment. He reminded himself over and over that their betrothal was assured.

Sometimes Naheem thought about asking Altaïr or Malik for advice on courting. Then decided that would be dumb. Altaïr's track record with women was very very VERY poor. Altaïr was either promiscuous and uncaring, or he married with great failing. Adha was stolen from him and killed. Nina… well, no one dared say her name in the Bureau. She was a grade A bitch. Naheem shook his head as he sat on a bench by the fountain and opened up his sketchbook. No, Altaïr was not the person to ask for advice. As for Malik, Naheem suspected Malik was still a virgin. And if Malik wasn't, well Naheem had already worked out that Malik had no interest really in women and since guys did not court guys, Malik was no source at all of courtship advice. He sighed to himself that he was on his own on this one.

He worked on a drafting assignment, trying to sketch the building perspectives from where he sat. Then worked on a map of the marketplace. By lunch, Tibah seemed to materialize before his vision. He jolted and she giggled softly. "I thought you light like some water and a little to eat. Maybe, you could come sit with me under the shade of our stall?" Her boldness would be frowned upon by most, and was by some who observed. He nodded with a small smile and packed his things. He limped over with his cane, eyes scanning all around almost protectively. She totally disarmed him by taking his hand. Her father chuckled and patted him on the shoulder as they passed. Naheem felt like a child, a foolish one.

Then he felt even more foolish. Bringing him under the shade of the stall effective hid him from sight as a troop of crusaders and Templars passed at a quick pace. Naheem wondered how Altaïr's mission was going. Clearly no success or failure yet. Alarms were not sounding. Malik had always told Naheem that when Altaïr finished or failed a mission, the entire city knew. People were not on alert, and no one was cheering the death of an assassin. Altaïr must still be getting into position, or was in the middle of a fight whose news had not reached this part of Jersalem, yet. Naheem hoped Junayd would spy safely and bring news.

For now, he and Tibah sat together and nibbled lunch in the shade. Her father keeping one eye on them like a proper wary father. Tibah talked about many different things she had seen, things she enjoyed doing, even commented on how well Naheem seemed to be healing. She asked questions when his silence stretched too long. Questions he could not answer with a nod or shake of the head. She asked about his family, what he had learned, and if he had hoped to be something different before he came under his uncle's care. It challenged him to keep his truths and lies in order.

She took his hand and thumbed the severed finger. He recoiled a little uncertainly. She took his hand again and gave him a very knowing smile. "I know what I am getting into, Naheem. I need you in order to be what I want to be. And you… you will need me to be what you are planning on being. Why are you so shy?" Everything went so well until that last question. Why did she have to ask it? It was as if by asking it pulled all his shyness to the forefront. He blushed, dimpled, shrugged, averted his eyes. She leaned in to say something, but her father spoke her name warningly.

Naheem felt doomed. He had been unmanned in five words.

Altaïr must be doing better in his mission. Naheem figured that because he felt like he was doing quite miserably in his own, so much so that anything Altaïr was doing had to be better.

* * *

A/N #2 – fight scene in next chapter… wish me luck writing it!


	203. Chapter 203: Altair Meets Maria

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Happy New Year everyone!

* * *

Altaïr must be doing better in his mission. Naheem figured that because he felt like he was doing quite miserably in his own, so much so that anything Altaïr was doing had to be better.

Bodies littered a trail to a dead-end alley. Altaïr could not escape without being dragged back into the fray. His robes seemed more red than white with both his blood and that of his enemies. Guards and crusaders moaned, dying about his feet. Altaïr stood in a sea of blood. His left hand flexed with the snap snap of the hidden blade. His right held the eagle sword wide, blood and viscera streaming down to drip off the point.

Altaïr's chest heaved, desperate to catch his breath before the next wave. The lack of warning alarm bells in the city cast a weighty eerie silence that unnerved Altaïr. It was a trap. They were waiting for him. They were ready for him. His escape route could still be taken, but getting to a good run point was difficult. More guards and crusaders stepped in to surround him. Robert de Sable waited on the outskirts. Altaïr held his ground waiting for the exhaustion and blurry vision to pass before taking on this new wave of enemies. His eyes locked darkly on Robert, who was indeed dressed somewhat lighter than the average Templar.

_So, he had taken the steps to learn about moves and fighting just as we have about his. He has lightened his armour so he could move faster to try to match me. It will not work. I will not fall. Not before he does._

His breath huffed, as Altaïr took in the scene of incoming danger. He counted the enemies. They all shimmered red. Even his target. It didn't register that his target should shimmer yellow in his vision. The faint breeze blew a feather into their midst. Altaïr's fingers tensed on the sword waiting, recouping, coiling to spring. The feather touched, stuck, to a puddle of mud and blood.

Tension broke that instant.

The guards and crusaders rushed in. Light as that feather, Altaïr slid through the blood into the center of the attack. He arched, sword twisting to a down stroke. The guard dodged too slow. His face sprayed red. Altaïr's left hand grabbed the wrist of in incoming crusader. The wrist blade pierced mail, flesh, bone. Each breath was a movement. A round house kick. A staggering guard. A flash of foreign steel. Adbdominal muscled clenched, the clade slicing a paper thin cut along Altaïr's side.

Thrust, parry, clash. Steel hit steel. Over and over. Heavy armour deflected blows. Red and white robes dodged sharp edges. Altaïr punched and crunched the bridge of a helmet nose piece. The Templar's head thrashed back. Altaïr's kick sent him reeling. The exposed belly taking a long drag of Altaïr's sword.

Several down, bruises and broken bones numb in the heat of noon sun and battle. Altaïr staggered a moment. Arms crossing the short knife he pulled from his back and his sword. Robert's heavy sword vibrated Altaïr's tired arms with the impact. The seasoned French soldier turned a shoulder. Altaïr pulled back. The blows came fast, furious, both a blur of fabric and metal, kicking up filth in their deadly dance. Altaïr lost the short knife. His reverse swing struck true. The hilt banged hard into the helm. CRACK! Robert stumbled back but recovered too soon for Altaïr. Acrobatic leaps and flips kept Altaïr from the first mistake he made with the Templar. Never let him get hold of you. The wrist blade glanced off the shoulder. A metal gauntlet cracked ribs. Altaïr grunted. Ground his teeth. Rushed in and tackled.

The noise and screams of innocent watchers vanished. The dust and scent of blood vanished. The washed out stone of buildings vanished. The fog rolled in obscuring everything.

Altaïr and Robert heaved each strained breath in time with each other. Heart beats pounded in unison like wing beats.

Sensing the accepted defeat of his target, Altaïr eased back. This realm of fog and souls was his and his alone. The other was but a guest in it till he was gone to the next life. His wrist blade slid without cutting and then snapped into its sheath. His sword pressed in to keep his enemy in place. With a deep huskiness, Altaïr spoke, "I would see your eyes before you die." With his free hand, Altaïr pulled the visor free from the helm. He gasped, astonished.

This was not the face of Robert de Sable. This fair woman with strong features and dark blue eyes gazed harshly back at him, daring him, unafraid. "I sense you expected someone else." Her voice was deep and liquid, like thick molten metal.

Altaïr backed off her immediately. "What sorcery is this?" he demanded.

She pushed herself up. She moved like a Templar, held herself up proud like a noble. Her soul knew it would die here, yet she stood facing him. "No sorcery. We knew you'd come. Robert needed time to get away."

His expression shadowed by his hood flew through confusion and mixed information. A woman… as a Templar. A woman… who damn near kicked his ass. A woman… who outsmarted him in this kind of fight. This woman. Her French was good, but her English origin betrayed itself. Her sword better than any he had faced. Her lithe form clearly needed the lighter armour or she would never have been able to move. So much was now explained. So much… yet nothing. "So he flees." Altaïr wanted to spit his contempt at the cowardice of Robert.

Even as he grabbed the front of her tunic and shook her to be certain she was really a woman, she stared him in the eye, past the shadows. "We cannot deny your success. You have laid waste to our plans. First the treasure, then our men. Control of the Holy Land slipped away. But then he saw an opportunity to reclaim what has been stolen; to turn your victories to our advantage." She held his wrist hoping to press her words into him more clearly.

"Al Mualim still holds your treasure, and we've routed your army before. Whatever Robert plans, he'll fail again." He shook her again, wishing she would not touch him.

"Ah! But it's not just Templars you'll contend with now."

"Speak sense!" Altaïr yelled.

The woman wondered how daft these assassins really were. Did she need to explain as if to a child? So be it. "Robert rides for Arsuf to plead his case, that Saracen and Crusader unite against the Assassins.

"That will never happen. They have no reason to," alarm was clear in Altaïr's voice as well as uncertainty.

She continued, "_Had_ perhaps. But now you've given them one. Nine, in fact. The bodies you've left behind; victims on both sides. You've made the Assassins an enemy in common and ensured the annihilation of your entire order," she almost laughed ironically at it. "Well done."

Then it clicked for Altaïr. She was willing to sacrifice herself for what she believed, but she had no real knowledge of the dangers. He was starting to understand the dangers, but not entirely the source. Was Al Mualim's information wrong? Was the traitor among his researchers and closest advisors? Did Al Mualim know the repercussion? An army of both Saracen and Crusader would wipe out Masyaf and reclaim the treasure. Masyaf could never survive that.

He stood at a cross road. He could take this life, this messenger's life and prove to her that the assassins are blind rabid dogs as she seems to believe, or he could spare her for even as he looked at her more clearly now, she had shimmered from red of an attacker to the white of an innocent. _Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent._

Altaïr recalled Malik's pleas for him to remember the Creed, to not abandon in for revenge or give in to fury and hate. He made his decision. "Not nine, eight."

"What do you mean?" she asked in confusion.

Maybe peace in this area started with small gestures like this one, small things one could remember. Maybe it started with sparing one life. "You were not my target. I will not take your life. You're free to go, but do not follow me." He warned her for he did not want to have his hand forced.

"I don't need to," she seemed almost disappointed. This war was not quite as she had dreamed. There was no glory in the actions she had been bidden to carry out, Robert's cruel orders. It didn't matter anyways. "You're already too late."

Altaïr already disliked her brazen attitude. "We'll see," he threw back in challenge.

They parted ways without a fight. She lived. So did he. Both lived, though not unscathed, and not untouched by that moment in the fog. Altaïr wondered if she would haunt his dreams too, for having let her live. She knew she would never forget that almost shy stance and the tiniest glimpse of golden eyes beneath the mystery of his hood. Now was not the time to fight. He gave her freedom. He gave her a way out. She silently wished him luck and swift flight.

Altaïr flew indeed. A hard dead run through the city, over buildings, up ladders and down darkened alleys. No city alarm rang out warning of his escape, however every guard and soldier watched for him, intercepted him, fought him every step of the way till he panted and shook the questions from his mind in an alcove out of sight. He needed to get to the Bureau. He needed to speak to Malik. Malik would know, would understand, would find the answers.

Then the bells of alarm began to toll. Malik would kill him. _WHY? Why can I NOT get through a mission without that infernal ringing?_ It was like it heralded his failure long before he could confess it.

At last, the Bureau was in sight! He rushed there so fast, he over-calculated his jump and nearly fell through the roof opening. He teetered a moment before dropped into the carpeted room. The crux of the matter hit Altaïr there. Who gave the orders? Who bade him to kill? Who held a treasure of great temptation? Doubt boiled up with the experiences of childhood. But to lay blame on AL Mualim would undermine the whole order and all they have lived and died for for generations. Malik would never believe this suspicion, but Altaïr felt he needed to convince him, somehow, to at least consider it. He tried to ignore everything that hurt as he strode into the main room, Malik busily working over a map as usual.

* * *

A/N #2 – fight scene done… thank the gods!


	204. Chapter 204: Malik's Risk

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Sorry for the delays folks, school is taking up some serious brainpower.

* * *

But to lay blame on AL Mualim would undermine the whole order and all they have lived and died for for generations. Malik would never believe this suspicion, but Altaïr felt he needed to convince him, somehow, to at least consider it. He tried to ignore everything that hurt as he strode into the main room, Malik busily working over a map as usual.

Malik looked up at the flicker of red and white movement knowing that it was Altaïr. The city alarm hailed his arrival as usual. Malik almost rolled his eyes and scoffed but for the fact that Altaïr's robes were more red than white.

"It was a trap!" Altaïr declared.

Malik chose not to scoff and instead set his measuring compass down. "I heard the funeral ended in chaos. What happened?"

"Robert de Sable was never here," the growl of frustration laced the edges of Altaïr's voice. "He sent another in his stead. He was expecting me. ME!"

This seemed impossible. It was impossible. Malik had worked so hard to give the impression, to seed the information, that Altaïr likely died of the last deadly injuries or was not at all within the city. No one should have expected him personally. "I will need to send word." This was the proper course. A failed mission had to be reported so new instructions could be issued. Al Mualim needed to know the danger of exposure. Malik did not like the Master for a great many reasons, but he was still the master of the order.

"There's no time."

Malik's jaw dropped. Was Altaïr crazy? Was Altaïr actually going to consider doing something about this. It was not supposed to be about vengeance.

"She told me where he's gone. Arsuf. If I can head him off, learn his plans. If I got o Masyaf, all could be lost. Then, I fear we could be destroyed."

Altaïr was not making sense. Malik felt like he was missing important information like the translation key for this mysterious code. Malik countered as he gathered medical supplies and a clean uniform. "We have killed most of his men. How could never mount a proper attack." He set them on the counter's edge and paused as Altaïr's earlier words hit him. "Wait. Did you say… she?"

At a gesture from Malik, Altaïr began to strip the equipment from himself and the bloody robes. "Yes. A woman. Strange I know." He grunted with a snag of momentary pain. "But that's for another time." Malik paced wishing to know more now, not wait for some other time that may never come. "For now, we must focus on Robert." Malik filled a basin with water and helped Altaïr wash, check each wound as they talked. "We may have thinned his ranks, but the man is clever. He goes to plead his case to Richard and Saladin. To unite them against a common enemy. Against us."

Altaïr hissed as Malik treated and stitched. Malik wished Altaïr would just sit, but clearly he was in a driven mood and would take flight if Malik let him redress now. He had no intention of letting Altaïr rush off without proper medical treatment. Malik sank onto a stool to better view a gash and bandage the badly bruised ribs. "Surely you are mistaken. This makes no sense. These two men… would never…" It was preposterous to even consider King Richard and Saladin allied.

"Oh but they would," insisted Altaïr, "and we have ourselves to blame. The men I have killed. Men on BOTH sides of the conflict. Men important to both leaders. Robert's plan may be ambitious, but it makes sense. And it could work."

Malik sighed. He had to agree. It did make sense. "Look brother, Things have changed." He finished the last of the main bandaging and Altaïr already started to redress. "You must return to Masyaf. We cannot act without our Master's permission." To do so could undermine other missions. Only the Grand master of the Order knew where everyone was supposed to be and what missions they were all on. Generally. "That could compromise the brotherhood." Had Altaïr reverted to the arrogant head-strong man from that fateful day in the temple when they first faced Robert? "I thought… I thought you had learned this… learned to let go and follow the Creed and the rules." He returned to his place behind the counter full of disappointment.

Altaïr turned ferociously on him, "Stop hiding behind word, Malik! You wield the Creed and its tenets like some shield! He's keeping things from us! IMPORTANT things! You are the one who told me that we could never KNOW anything, only suspect." Altaïr approached the counter and leaned his hands upon the edge. He pulled the hood up but not so far. His golden eyes locked Malik in place pleadingly, begging for understanding, for trust. It stabbed Malik in the heart. "Malik, please. I suspect his business with the Templars goes deeper. When I am done with Robert, I will ride for Masyaf that we might have answers. But perhaps you could go now."

Malik flung his arms in the air. Altaïr was not the one to give commands. If the tone had not had the edge of begging, Malik might have disregarded everything Altaïr said. Had he not read those journals and asked some of the same questions Altaïr was asking, too. Bottom line though, "Altaïr, I cannot leave the city."

Altaïr leaned over the counter a little, "Then… then… walk among the people. Seek out those who serve the ones I slew. Learn what you can. You call yourself perceptive. Malik, perhaps you will see something I could not."

This was treasonous, dangerous. If Al Mualim knew, suspected, then Malik and Naheem and anyone Malik had contact with could become targets. "I don't know. I must think on this." He was not the kind of man to rush into things like Altaïr. He like clean sure plans.

Altaïr hung his head, "Do as you must, my friend." Malik sensed an ending here. A break of trust and judgment. Altaïr called him friend for the first time as he had called Altaïr friend before the mission. It sounded so final, like when you say your last goodbye. "It's time I ride for Arsuf. Every moment I delay, our enemy gets another step ahead of me."

Malik could not let it end like this. He leaned across the counter and slid his hand into Altaïr's hood, pulling Altaïr closer. Their brows touched. They stayed this way for several second before Malik decided to take a chance to make sure Altaïr remembered there were things and people worth living for. He hoped this risk was the right choice. He tugged Altaïr slightly closer and almost nervously pressed his lips to Altaïr's. It was rough and inexperienced and a little desperate. Malik lowered his hand to see if Altaïr would hold the kiss. Altaïr rested his hand over Malik's on the counter. Relief filled Malik. He spoke when they parted, "Be careful, Brother."

Altaïr's golden eyes held Malik as he replied in a hoarse whisper, "I will be. I promise."

* * *

A/N #2 – I would like to thank someone for uploading the fight that I followed and the conversation with Malik that I just used here. Thanks Porslu for the YouTube vid! It helped a great deal!

http:/ www . youtube . com /watch?v= C29aY9BWVu8

A/N #3 – and here is a picture I have been waiting to use since I started this fic! Thanks luulala !

http:/ luulala .deviantart .com /art/Malik-Altair-Assassin-s-Creed- 131615902


	205. Chapter 205: Altair Will Do Anything

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – to those who asked if I made a mistake last chapter with Malik throwing his arms (plural) in the air. It was no mistake. He had one and a half arms. I didn't write _throw his hands in the air_ which was my original text when I remembered he doesn't have two of those. *wink*

* * *

Malik tugged Altaïr slightly closer and almost nervously pressed his lips to Altaïr's. It was rough and inexperienced and a little desperate. Malik lowered his hand to see if Altaïr would hold the kiss. Altaïr rested his hand over Malik's on the counter. Relief filled Malik. He spoke when they parted, "Be careful, Brother."

Altaïr's golden eyes held Malik as he replied in a hoarse whisper, "I will be. I promise." Before he lost his nerve or his drive to deal with the current crisis, Altaïr took flight from the Bureau. The alarm bells still rang out across the city, even as he managed to sneak out and ride off on a dark horse with white socks.

A few hours later, he slowed the horse from the hard frothing run. It danced in distress from the harsh treatment. He leaned over and rubbed its neck to soothe it and walk it on past the tall watch tower. As he rounded some bush and tree cover, he stopped the horse near a pile of hay. The road forked three ways from here. One doubled back to a lower valley where there were soldiers and guards and likely some Templars training. One wider road was the usual one he took to other cities, including Masyaf. It was the main road. The last was guarded farther ahead and impassable unless you wanted to hike through the treacherous mountains. He would not be able to do anything as the guards of the watch tower were ready to attack anyone or warn people of the intruder, unless he returned to Masyaf but that was not his choice.

The bruises and stitching reminded him of their presence rather loudly. The cracked ribs did so too after he took out the guards around the base of the tower and climbed it to the top to deal with the lookout guard. He winced with the pain. He knew he needed rest, but there wasn't really any time. A graceful leap from the tower landed him perfectly in the hay. Yes. That rib was definitely cracked. He lay there many minutes steadying his breath and reigning in his focus. Also, he weighed the risk of time. Robert could be hiding out in the training grounds. Or, he could already be in Arsuf or close. If he was in the training ground, there was no way Altaïr could deal with him. It would be too dangerous. If he was already on his way to Arsuf, Altaïr had no time to lose.

He brushed off the hay and snuck VERY carefully into the training grounds to spy and listen. Just enough to get a notion of where Robert was and if he was there. He was! He checked the training or Templars and spoke of his journey in the morning with them to Arsuf. They would ride hard to meet King Richard. Altaïr almost cursed. He didn't have the strength at this moment to plan or fight in an ambush for them along their route. His only option now would be to get as far ahead as he could now and grab rest before confronting King Richard directly. He cursed again as he reached his now rested horse. He had planned to kill the guards blocking the pass. But if he did, that would alert Robert of trouble. Mountain hike it would have to be.

He freed the horse and started his climb. He found an ill-used goat track and used that to get past the guards. It was slow so as not to accidentally kick stones or earth upon their heads. Once past them, he grinned and stole one of their horses to ride as hard as he could. Once the sun set, he found a good spot to leave the house and continued into the mountains on foot till it was too dark to see or traverse safely. There he nestled down to rest, to sleep off as much of his earlier wounds as he could, yet listen in case anyone passed him below or even above.

Altaïr's mind ran circles around the mysteries of his missions, around the lessons he had learned, and around the actions and conversations he had had with his Master. The more he thought about it, the more he suspected terrible things he did not want to believe. Finally, he stripped everything away except the bare naked facts. And all of those lead to Robert de Sable and that treasure now safe in Masyaf. That was the whole reason for uniting Richard and Saladin, to wipe out Masyaf and the assassins and thus take back the Apple of Eden. Altaïr cursed the stupid useless ball of metal. At least he sorted out his initial thoughts and could allow his mind to tackle the next nagging thoughts, which were so tangled with emotions that he was almost afraid to acknowledge them.

_Malik… kissed me._

Exhaustion claimed him long before he could sort out those thoughts and feelings. He simply accepted them as a fact at the moment, abandoning the why for now. He allowed the memory of that hand on the back of his neck and the lips on his and the tickle of Malik's goatee on his chin to comfort him and remind him that he could not waste any action or risk his life too much. There was a chance laying in wait for him. A chance with Malik, a chance at the deep friendship they used to have that he wanted back badly enough to kill or die for. He dreamed of Malik tending his wounds and of all the times that gentle hand cared for him. He dreamed of all the times he lay snuggled close to Malik in the night to ward off the night terrors and the times Malik held him through them. All the small signs he hadn't recognized before that he now saw. It swelled in his sleeping heart and filled it with strength and hope. This mission would be for Malik. Not out of revenge, but out of love. He promised to bring peace to the Holy Land, for Malik.

Altaïr would do anything for Malik. Anything.

* * *

A/N #2 – Here is a pic from RBF5247's cosplay that is perfect for Altair on a white Templar horse:

http:/ rbf5247 .deviantart .com /art/Altair-is-going-for-a-ride-187604391

A/N #3 – song inspiration for this chapter: "I'll Do Anything for Love" by Meatloaf.


	206. Chapter 206: Malik's Labyrinth Walk

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – so close to the game ending sequence that I can taste it and feel nervous about it! For now… need to tie up the loose ends.

* * *

Altaïr would do anything for Malik. Anything.

Malik had raised his hand to his mouth disbelieving his leap of faith to kiss Altaïr. It took a loud bang and yell from a guard outside his front door to snap him from his stillness. Guards were starting to search buildings. Malik ran through to the shut and lock the lattice roof, timing it to the bangs on his door. A shadow of a roof guard moved on the ground through the lattice and Malik dashed back out of sight and into his back room. He pressed his back against the wall to the left of the curtained door. A sword in hand, he was ready if the guards and Templars broke in. He listened, almost holding his breath till they moved on. He remained there still as stone for another half an hour praying Altaïr escaped the city alive. The fact that the alarm bells rang on, reassured him that Altaïr was still free.

The sound of the door being rattled and fought with in the lock made Malik tense again, just as he was about to relax. He readied for the fight.

"Uncle?" called a familiar voice with the familiar click of a cane on the floor, followed by a fumble and the cane fell. "Dammit," came the muttered curse. "Master Malik?"

Naheem. Malik sagged against the wall with relief. He dropped the sword back into the corner and came out as Naheem was relocking the door.

"Is he alright? Is he alive? Did you see him?" Naheem expressed Malik's inner thoughts. Malik's nod and composure reassured the teen of Altaïr's safety. "Oh good! It is CRAZY out there!" Naheem looked down and snapped his head back up. "Master Malik. There's blood on the floor!"

"Yes yes. You should scrub it clean before you get to the robes." Naheem groaned at the instruction but obeyed. Malik patted his shoulder. "Altaïr is hurt but not incapacitated. His mission was a trap. He's on his way to meet Robert now in Arsuf."

Naheem's eyes widened. But before he could say or ask anything, Malik continued with his orders. "Do not leave the Bureau unless it is compromised. You know the rules and what to do if it is."

"Where are you going?" asked Naheem.

"To keep a promise. Something has not been right for months. I need to investigate some things and talk to people. I'll be gone several days. Send word that I want to meet with all our trusted in one week." Malik jotted down a list of people to be spied on and told Naheem to send out the informants to find these people and learn what they can about the nine missions of Altaïr's assassinations. There had to be a link that made this all make sense.

As he thought about links while packing a satchel with a few supplies and a journal, he froze. Links. So many things and people were connected. "Naheem? What was the name of that doctor your father sent to treat your mother and teach you bedside manners?"

"Faruq. He was nice. He reminded me of you with how he takes copious notes. I wish I could get word to him to thank him for all that he did to help ease her."

Malik smiled sadly. "Faruq was my elder brother. Light some incense and thank his spirit. He'll hear you." He stopped at the door before leaving, "I'll be back by the end of the week. Get that information."

Malik locked up after himself. Naheem could handle this. He told himself over and over that he could not coddle the novice. He had handled a few days here alone before. Another five to seven will be fine. Malik had a mission of his own, to find answers, to find out the truth. He wove discreetly through the rushed and panicky city. He avoided guards and occasionally had to show the scrolls of prayers he carried in his satchel for delivery to be allowed to continue on.

There was a blinded Templar in the Gnostics Temple he felt ready to see now. This man, who knew his brother Faruq, had important information for Malik that he was not ready to hear before. Also, the man needed time to heal. He hoped the Templar was still there. He knocked upon the Gnostics door and politely requested to sit and pray with the blind man. He was admitted and taken to a private prayer booth past many scrolls and books that he so badly wanted to read. Later maybe. Altaïr's life hung in the balance of this knowledge, the safety of the whole Brotherhood might.

To get to the room, he had to descend again into the bowels of the building. The stairs opened to a larger room he had not seen last time he was here. He was instructed to walk the path to the other side and think about his questions. The floor revealed a labyrinth pattern that Malik though was painted, but as his feet began the first steps, he realized it was slightly ridged, so one may make this journey with their eyes closed, trusting that God would guide them. His heart fluttered in this sacred moment. It was like taking a leap of faith. His questions revolved around the idea of treason and treachery and whether what he was planning was right or wrong.

_If I am to believe in Altaïr, if his concerns are right, morally right, then dear God, guide me to the truth._

Malik closed his eyes and slowly shuffled along the path of the labyrinth. Every step raised the knowledge and insights from all the journals and experiences Malik had this past year with Altaïr. Every turn shifted the patterns in his mind and heart. Every return along the path brought him back to Faruq, Kadar, Altaïr, and the lessons and secrets in their childhood and training.

He reached the end of the labyrinth. If someone had told him it took almost three hours to do so, he would not have believed them. It was like he had been walking outside of time. Not yet opening his eyes, Malik was afraid to leave the labyrinth, afraid to learn the truth.

"_Knowledge and truth can be dangerous things. They can trap you with their temptations or free you from slavery. They may not protect your body, but wield them with faith, trust, and honor, and they will shield your soul."_

Malik swore he heard his brother speak them now, sure a soft voice murmured them into the silence of the cavernous room. "Faruq," whispered Malik.

"Yes, it was he who spoke those words to me."

Malik's eyes flew open. The Templar, still dressed like a Templar, with a neat blindfold covering his ruined eyes, stood before Malik in the doorway. They were at the beginning of the labyrinth from where Malik had started. "He was my brother," Malik whispered.

"He was my lover," the Templar whispered back as he turned and walked into a darkened prayer room lit with candles and smoking gently with incense.

* * *

A/N #2 – An eleven circuit labyrinth is a powerful meditation tool as well as problem solving tool. You walk it in silence with the problem or prayer in mind. A large one will take about 2-3 hours, a smaller one about an hour (for a seven circuit labyrinth). You can even make it out of clay and follow it with your finger if you cannot find a walking one near you.

Here is a picture of an eleven circuit labyrinth:

http:/ www. Millbrookbaptistchurch .org /Portals/2/Labyrinth/Labyrinth_


	207. Chapter 207: Altair Learns the Truth

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Sorry all. I dodged the fight scene in favour of the conversations and insights.

* * *

"He was my brother," Malik whispered.

"He was my lover," the Templar whispered back as he turned and walked into a darkened prayer room lit with candles and smoking gently with incense.

~~~ oooOOOooo ~~~

The sun woke him from his comfortable dream. Or was it the poking stick in his hip. Altaïr shifted a little then realized the poky thing was in his pocket. He pulled it out as he stretched, wincing a little with bruises and stitches. He rolled the black bishop piece in his hand and rubbed it to his lips remembering that kiss. The sound of an army or three jostled his focus back to reality. He hurried to track the movements and stay ahead till he could reach Arsuf, hopefully ahead of Robert. Saladin's army was slowly moving through the rougher higher ground. Richard's army controlled Arsuf. Robert's Templar's moved along the lower ground.

Altaïr watched with suspicion. Robert managed his army as if it were independent of King Richard. It was as if there actually were three armies here. Robert was ready to take out his own king if that became necessary for Robert's plans. So, Richard has a traitor in his ranks too. That could work to Altaïr's advantage, if he could convince the English King. There was no way Altaïr could catch up to Robert and his elite contingent. Altaïr prayed he could be convincing, prayed for the silver tongue that Malik was gifted with, or at least for the courage to be calm and patient and clear.

He watched Robert's men enter Richard's camp. There was no time to lose. He took a breath and silently apologized to Malik for he decided the best course of action… was to break the Creed. He stepped into plain sight and walked openly to the camp. Two of Richard's men stopped him. "Hold a moment," Altaïr raised his hands palms up briefly, "It is words I bring not steel." Altaïr's English was almost flawless and only slightly accented.

King Richard looks like a tired man, but just a man, a man in control. "Offering terms of surrender then?" asked the king, making assumptions upon Altaïr's identity. "It's about time."

"You misunderstand. It is Al Mualim who sends me not Saladin."

Richard cursed out the word, "assassin," and almost disregarded Altaïr to the dealings of his men. "What is the meaning of this and be quick with it!"

Altaïr kept his poise and his calm, "You have a traitor in your midst."

"And he has hired you to kill me?" Richard held the courage of a lion to face Altaïr the assassin fearlessly. "Have you come to gloat about it before you strike? I won't be taken so easily!" How could he? He was surrounded by armies ready to do more battle with Saladin's.

"It is not you I have come to kill," countered Altaïr. "It is him." He tried to let the mystery of the who hold Richard to conversation. It was a tactic Malik employed often to keep Altaïr's attention.

"Speak then that I may judge the truth," encouraged Richard. "Who is this traitor?"

Altaïr was highly impressed at King Richard's willingness to listen. Altaïr was allowed to pass and approach the king to a safe distance. "Robert de Sable."

"My lieutenant?" Richard laughed.

"He aims to betray," Altaïr tried to plead his own case to the king.

Calmly, Richard replies, "That is not the way he tells it. He seeks revenge for the havoc you wreaked in Acre, and I am inclined to support him. Some of my best men were murdered by some of yours."

Altaïr clenched his teeth. He thought he had arrived before Robert had settled in long enough to speak to the king. He obviously was wrong. Altaïr needed to tip his hand, risk everything for the one thing he needed, the king's ear. Altaïr reminded himself that he would do anything for Malik, and that included being careful. If he did not convince the king now, Altaïr would be killed, slaughtered. "It was I who killed them and with good reason." Now he had to build his proof without sounding insane. "Hear me out."

Altaïr was very grateful for Malik's insistence to write things out, journal them. It helped Altaïr sort out the facts and feelings. "William of Montfort, he sought to use his soldiers to take Acre by force. Garnier de la Plouse, he would use his skills to indoctrinate and control any who resisted. Sibrand, he intended to block the ports, preventing your kingdom from providing aid. They betrayed you and they took their orders from Robert." That was succinct as Altaïr could put it.

Richard did not seem convinced, "You expect me to believe this outlandish tale?"

"You knew these men, better than I. Are you truly surprised to learn of their ill intentions?" Altaïr had heard that Richard was a smart king.

Richard turned to one of the Templars and demanded, "Is this true?"

Robert removed his silver helm. His cold eyes regarded Altaïr with cool recognition. He bowed his head to the king and spoke English accented in French, "My liege. It is an assassin that stands before us. These creatures are masters of manipulation." He spoke as if the assassins were animals. It only made Altaïr hate him more. "Of course it isn't true," he lied smoothly.

Altaïr pushed his hood back just enough to expose his face and look the king in the eye, "I have no reason to deceive."

Robert stepped in readily, "Oh, but you do. You are afraid of what will happen to your little fortress. Can it withstand the combined force of the Saracen and the Crusader armies?"

Altaïr thought of the chess board, thought of Malik, thought of the people he was growing to care about. "My concern is for the people of the Holy Land. If I must sacrifice myself for there to be peace, then so be it." If the king was as honourable as rumour would have, then he would rise to seek out the truth and to find justice. Altaïr hoped for this.

To Altaïr's relief, King Richard did, "it is a strange place we find ourselves in, one man accusing the other."

Here Robert's composure began to break, "There really is no time for this!" Perhaps if he had not spoken at all and remained patient and humble, Richard would never have had a doubt. "I must be off to meet with Saladin and enlist his aid. The longer we delay, the harder this will become."

Altaïr saw that flicker of doubt and suspicion in the king's eyes at Robert's haste to avoid this conflict. "Hold a moment Robert," called the king.

Robert stabbed Altaïr with a dagger look as he turned to face his king as humbly as he could pretend to be. "Why? What do you intend?" He eyes Altaïr then Richard. "Surely you do not believe him?"

Altaïr saved his case by holding to good training. He remains still, quiet, patient. He did not push any more than he had to. He waited, allowing Robert's actions to create their own noose and Richard to realize it.

"It is a difficult decision," stated the king, "one I cannot make alone. I must leave it in the hands of one wiser than I."

And Robert hung himself with his next words of arrogance, "thank you." He dared assume he was wiser than King Richard.

The king did not miss it. "No Robert. Not you."

"Then who?" asked Robert feeling suddenly undermined.

A flicker of a grin from Richard was aimed at Altaïr, "The Lord God. Let this be decided by combat. Surely God will side with the one whose cause if righteous."

Suddenly Altaïr's insides clenched as he felt damned. He took a deep breath. This would be like a leap of faith. Maybe Adha was right. Maybe there is a God. Altaïr wondered if this was a good time to actually pray. Would God actually listen to him? He doubted it. Maybe if he were Malik.

Remembering how he had defeated the assassins before, Robert grinned arrogantly at Altaïr. He bowed to the king, "If this is what you wish, so be it." He drew his blade and called out, "To arms men!" and his Templars also drew their blades. Robert, like a coward, like that woman he had trained, backed away and let his men fight Altaïr first, to tire the assassin before he stepped in.

Conviction kept Altaïr alive. He fought as hard there, or harder, than he did in the fight at the funeral. By the time he mowed through the Templars and took on Robert directly, his vision wavered in little heat waves. Altaïr had no idea how he would survive this, if he could survive this. When the fog rolled in as he fought Robert, he wasn't sure for a moment whether it was there for the Templar's dying soul or for his own. The pain vanished n the fog and Robert grew limp in Altaïr's arms. That is when he knew. "It's done then. Your schemes, like you, are put to rest."

Robert, dying, laughed still, "You know nothing of schemes." The older man chuckled again, "He betrayed you, boy, just as he betrayed me."

"Speak sense Templar, or not at all." Altaïr was fed up with the cryptic messages in these fogged episodes.

Here the truth was revealed. Nine men guarded the secret of the treasure. Not really nine, but ten. It was ten men who found it and the tenth… was Al Mualim. It all made sense now. How Al Mualim knew so much about Templars and the Templar movements and goals. Robert turned out to be no more than just another pawn… like Altaïr. Altaïr was tired of being a pawn. He wanted to be the white knight. He wanted to fight alongside the black bishop in the made up rules he and Malik had created one day over a chess game. Robert's words were the truth, it was always the truth in the fog. And with his death, there were no more missions, no one for Altaïr to hunt. Robert was right. Altaïr knew too much. He would be the next target. Then Al Mualim might follow the trail and learn who else Altaïr shared the knowledge with. Malik would be next. In that moment, Altaïr had to choose between Malik and Al Mualim. It was surprising how easy that decision turned out to be.

Even as Altaïr left the camp safely, the conversation he had with King Richard hung in his mind.

_Even if you do not believe in God, he seems to believe in you._

_Vengence, then…_

… _no not vengeance, justice, that there might be peace…_

_This is what you fight for? Peace? Do you not see the contraction?_

… _some men cannot be reasoned with…_

_We come into this world kicking and screaming, violent and unstable, it is what we are, we cannot help ourselves._

… _no, we are what we choose to be…_

… _I speak the truth…_

_In time, maybe, what you seek may be possible, but not today._

… _Then I take my leave to see my Master. Apparently even he is not without fault…_

_He is only human, as are we all, you as well._

Altaïr had bid him safety and peace, as he would a brother of the order. He wanted to rush back to Malik with this news. However, he had to trust that Malik would come to the same truths. He took the first horse he could steal and rode it hard to Masyaf. The extra distance of Arsuf meant the journey would take him a week to make his way around the battles and the mountains to a rode he could ride upon.

He rode for Masyaf, for Master Al Mualim. This time, Altaïr was armed with the truth. May if guard his soul and lend him strength. Some this are true and some things are not permitted. He was determined to face his master and this time, not back down. It would be a confrontation.

* * *

A/N #2 – To understand the story behind the Knight and the Bishop changed rules, see this fanfic of my fic written by symphonyofsilence:

http:/ www .fanfiction .net /s/6664751/1/The_bishop_and_his_knight


	208. Chapter 208: Malik and the Templar

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Malik already knew the answer. He already knew the traitor was Al Mualim, but needed to be absolutely sure.

* * *

"He was my brother," Malik whispered.

"He was my lover," the Templar whispered back as he turned and walked into a darkened prayer room lit with candles and smoking gently with incense.

~~~ oooOOOooo ~~~

He rode for Masyaf, for Master Al Mualim. This time, Altaïr was armed with the truth. May if guard his soul and lend him strength. Some this are true and some things are not permitted. He was determined to face his master and this time, not back down. It would be a confrontation.

~~~ oooOOOooo ~~~

At first Malik did not follow the Templar. The incongruity of the man and his words and his brother came as a shock. And yet, it made perfect sense. Faruq never took a wife, threw himself into training and medicine and missions, and thus never had children. Malik and Kadar, being the children of their father's second wife, were so much younger than Faruq that they were very much like his own children already. Other clues in Malik's memories helped fill in the gaps and make this notion make sense, including himself and his own comforts and desires. But with a Templar? He wanted to yell at his brother for having taken leave of his senses to find a lover among the enemy. What had Faruq gotten himself into?

The prayer room Malik had been guided into was dimly lit by warm candles with a gentle incense burning. There was a cushioned bench, a small carpet, a kneeling cushion and a bowl filled with prayer beads. A wooden table served both as a place to lean for prayer and as a library for prayer books and scrolls. Every religion Malik was familiar with and many he wasn't seemed to be recognized in some small way here.

The Templar sat upon the bench. Malikt holds short notes about the clues of the mysteries I have been trying to unravel, of the puzzle of treachery I have been trying to piece together. I have many chain links, and am just starting to see how they connect. My friend, my brothers, others in my… order, our master, this war for the Holy Land, King Richard, Saladin, the Templars. They seem all connected and underlying them all are lies, secrets, betrayal." Malik's hands tightened on the book. The leather creaked as he did.

"I have been thinking these through for months," confessed Malik. "Terrible things have happened and I am missing the key clues to make it all make sense. People have been or are being hurt or killed and I need to know why and how to stop it… if I can. I made this book over the last few days trying to put it all together before talking to anyone. I wanted to be sure. Then… then my friend bade me promise to seek the truth to help free him from something, to help save our order before the traitor in our ranks destroys us." He thought about Altaïr words and Altaïr's drugged journal sessions.

"And now you come to a temple dedicated to no god and yet to all gods for your answers?" asked the Templar in his relatively good Arabic.

"No. I have come to seek answers from you. When we last spoke, you told me you knew things I needed to know. You knew them through Faruq. What was my brother involved in? Was it why he was killed?" Malik took a breath and then charged into his other questions that betrayed some of his current discrimination, "and with you! A Templar! What were you and my brother doing? I mean how did you two… you should be enemies. What reasons do you have that I should not kill you here now?"

The Templar sighed sadly. "I suppose you have every right to demand such questions. Remember, Assassin and Templar and Crusader and Sarasin are all just people, humans, with dreams and hopes and families, and needs. We all make mistakes and hopefully we all learn from them." He gestured to the walls of the prayer room. "They say the walls echo the Golden Rule. Do they?"

Malik tore his angry eyes from the Templar to look upon the walls, to study them. He gasped as he scanned from wall to wall. "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." It read thus in many languages with slight variants. The Templar named a religion after Malik read each one.

"Every religion seems to share similar kernels of truth," the Templar explained. "God has been part of every culture. And into them did he lay gifts powerful to aid the people in their journeys through life. However some are greedy and ignore the Golden Rule. So the treasures were hidden from the world. We templars learned of them through some texts and started our search for them. At first it was to ensure they did not fall into unrighteous hands. But who are we to decide who are righteous and not? We were condemning people simply because they were different. I fell ill one year and a man cared for me as he did many others, regardless of our color, code or creed. I admired him so much for he fluidly spoke each person's language as he soothed them through the plague that hit the village me and the men I was with controlled. Few of us survived. He and I became cautious friends then."

"The plague lasted so long and help would not come. So in the quiet waiting, he and I spoke. He taught me many things. We spoke of a Sacred Chalice. She did not survive the voyage by sea. He knew she was a treasure. Faruq knew about such things and more. He was a listener. A watcher. He learned from everything and everyone. He warned me of danger in my ranks, that a traitor was seeking to control the treasures, not protect them. But he did not know who."

"One night we abandoned our flags and met simply as men, shared or needs and our lonelinesses. Our paths crossed often. We risked our lives with each secret encounter. Often we met only to teach each other languages, reading and writing, and the things we have discovered in our travels. One day I told him that I overheard Robert de Sable speak of a treasure that he and nine others had found. They were a haphazard band of men who encountered it in the tomb of King Solomon. Saracen and Templar. Ten men found a treasure. They were going to take it back to England, but then they fought. Saracens wanted to keep it here in the Holy Land. Templars wanted it in England or Rome. Robert dreamed big of using it to bring peace, control the Holy Land and the world. A new world order."

Malik listened with a chill in his back. This was consistent with his own notes and things Altaïr had written.

"Faruq asked me to find out the names of these men if I could. So I did." The Templar recited the names of all the men as if reading a list he had memorized. They were all Altaïr's targets save for one, their own master. "I only knew Robert directly and heard the name of some of the other Templars, but all the others are a mystery to me. When I asked him if he knew who any of these men were, he told me that one day he would die for this knowledge and perhaps so would I, but likely it would be he. If he did die, I was to find you and tell you the list, that you would know how to proceed in his stead."

"I know these men you speak of." Malik barely whispered. "They are all dead or will be. I thank you for this." Malik understood now. Faruq must have confronted Al Mualim about this and thus earned a black mark. That the Templar and Faruq had no consistent way of meeting, having met randomly and in secret when they happened to by luck cross paths, meant the Templar was protected unless Robert wished him dead. And why would he want him dead when it gave him a perfect link inside the Assassins. Malik jotted down all these notes and never once asked this Templar's name. The anonymity would help protect him further. This confirmed so much. Malik had once wondered what secrets his brother was investigating but had always been told it was not his business yet. Yet. Now it was his duty to finish what his brother started.

The Templar pulled out a small notebook from somewhere inside his armour and handed it to Malik. "This is all I have left of him. I loved him very much. And through him I know you must love your friend very much as well. Please, take this. This is all I learned and all the research your brother could find on the treasures so far. Use it and protect the one you love as I should have been there to protect Faruq. Do not let your differences keep you apart."

Malik took the notebook. It was a shared journal, much like the one he and Altaïr shared. He swallowed hard many times as he flipped randomly through it. He wasn't sure if he did so because of what it meant to this man, or because it was Faruq's handwriting, or because all Malik could think of was Altaïr and the danger Altaïr was in.

Malik stayed several days in this gnostic temple reading this notebook, comparing it to his own notes and Altaïr's, and speaking more with this Templar. Malik learned that the Templar had lost his own little brother in this war and worried about his cousin he had promised to look out for as she was so foolishly trying to live as a man in this dangerous world. Malik learned her name, Maria, and knew she was the Templar Altaïr had faced. He could not help some mild amusement that Altaïr had been beaten by a girl nor the amusement that Malik knew the woman's name and Altaïr did not. Maybe, just maybe this woman could be as reasonable as this Templar was. She could make a strong ally, if you suspended gender expectations.

As the end of the fourth day neared and Malik felt he almost had his puzzle worked out, he spotted two identical pieces of information. One came from Altaïr and the other from Faruq. The treasure could control the minds of the weak, bend them to your will if only you make them look upon it and command them. Al Mualim had tried this very thing on Altaïr but it had not worked. Altaïr was thankfully special that way. But what if… what about the rest of those in Masyaf? What about the other assassins? Somehow, Naheem's father must have learned this from Faruq when Faruq went to treat Naheem's mother and that was why he had insisted that Altaïr not take Naheem to Masyaf. If Altaïr went to Masyaf alone now…

Yes, all these men on the list were dead, so long as Altaïr managed to kill Robert. All, but… Al Mualim. Malik could not face that man, not with the treasure, but Altaïr could… must…

… He would not just be facing Al Mualim though, but a whole army of assassins and civilians under Al Mualim's mind control. Alone, Altaïr would be killed.

* * *

A/N #2 – I am not really happy with this chapter but I am fed up with looking at it. Here it is. When I get around to doing editing, I will have a fresher mind to smooth it out more.


	209. Chapter 209: Altair's Delerium

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Never ignore Malik…

Yes, all these men on the list were dead, so long as Altaïr managed to kill Robert. All, but… Al Mualim. Malik could not face that man, not with the treasure, but Altaïr could… must…

He rode for Masyaf, for Master Al Mualim. This time, Altaïr was armed with the truth. May it guard his soul and lend him strength. Some things are true and some things are not permitted. He was determined to face his master and this time, not back down. It would be a confrontation.

From Arsuf, Altaïr should have been able to continue north through the mountains and find a reconnecting point to the main road. That certainly was impossible with Richard's armies deep in warring battles with Saladin's. Altaïr backtracked at a hard ride. He pushed the horse through the night. Finally back on the road, it would be another four days to Masyaf. Altaïr tried to stay in the saddle and let the horse walk. He slept in the saddle and ate what was in his belt pouches. Along the road, he stopped at a small hut. Altaïr raided it for food and bandages, water and the bottle of terrible alcohol. There was hardly enough water to fill one canteen on his belt.

He slept on some rough blankets on a cot in the hut. When he woke, he knew he was wounded from his fight. Battling Robert's Templars and then Robert after the fight with that fake Robert (that woman), had left Altaïr with more wounds than he had been aware of while hard riding away. Now without the adrenalin and high from battle, every wound screamed at him. He rolled to his side to sit up and doubled over gritting his teeth. He panted and slowly forced focus and breath back into himself. Bit by bit, he shunted away the pain. He wished he had the time to return to Jerusalem to let Malik care for him, but he didn't. He sat up with determination and hauled himself out of the hut.

His horse was gone. He spat several vile cursed in several languages.

Altaïr walked along the road, trying to stay to the shade. Sun stroke would not be good, especially now. He glanced back now and then to be sure he was not leaving a blood trail. When he did spot blood, he scuffed his boot over it till it was well rubbed into the dirt before he continued on. When he reached the bridges, he found his wandering horse and coaxed it over. Riding proved painful, but necessary. Strange shadows seemed to tease the corners of his vision, like a giant eagle might have been following him. Or maybe it was a vulture waiting for him to drop from his horse to become its meal. Altaïr had no intention of being a buzzard's meal of carrion. "I am not dead yet!" he yelled to the shadows.

The horse wound through a fort full of dead men. Saladin's men were wiped out here by Richard's. Altaïr remembered this place. Around the back bend of the mountain near this fort, you could squeeze through with a horse to a small path and a lake. Altaïr clenched his teeth and tensed at the prospect of squeezing between rock and water, but he knew he needed to wash his bloody robes and his wounds. It was a long process, scrubbing a bluing ball into his robe to bleach them white again. Naked on the shore, he tried to ignore the little droplet trails of blood he left. He draped the robes over bushes and staggered back to the edge of the water with a rag to wash his own wounds.

He grunted against the pain as he scrubbed. The sound of that damned vulture's wings warned him to try to hurry. Sleeping or passing out could get him pecked to death. He lined up what bandaging he had. It was far from enough for the wounds he bore. He yelled at it again, but that burned through his lungs and he almost blacked out. Sipping some of the water to keep his alertness, he returned to scraping out filth and pulling the odd bit of hey out of wounds. He sat upon the horse blanket at the edge of the shore as a way to not get sand into his wounds as he washed, and to give him the sense that he was not entirely on the edge of water. He paused to just breathe and shut out the pain again, closing his eyes and counting each breath.

When he opened his eyes, he was curled on his side on the horse blanket. The sun had moved several hours to a new position, dappling through the leaves over Altaïr's bare body. The vulture must have been by and decided he was not carrion, for Altaïr saw the white and black feathers here and there. He checked his wounded and realized he must have been treating himself in such a stupor. As full awareness settled through his mind, so too was the terrible sting of the last of his salt in his wounds. Malik would kill him for this poor self-mending. But, what was he to do? He lacked both skill and supplies. He didn't remember bring over the little salt block from his pouches, but shrugged. Everything had grown fuzzy since he left that hut. He tugged on his robes with several silent curses. The stray feathers were interesting, so he shoved a black one ad a white one into his belt pouches, to prove to Malik he survived a buzzard.

Saddled and trotting, the horse carried Altaïr onward. There should be a large town by another lake. He could hide there, steal food and better bandaging, then ride on through to Masyaf. The sun beat down hotly. Sweat stung the gashes and stabs, especially where salt had been rubbed in. Those would all scar badly, adding to Altaïr collection. He desperately wanted sleep and fought nodding off in the saddle. Even as the sun set, Altaïr did not feel the brutal cold of the night. He still felt hot, so very hot. The town seemed to manifest around him. People ignored his slow passing. He directed the horse to a remote area near the lake. Oh how he hated that lake. He nearly drowned in it fighting a Templar and destroying a flag on the little island in the middle of it. But the hut there, despite the state of ruin, belonged to assassins and should be stocked with food, fresh water, and medical supplies.

Altaïr slid from the saddle and clung to it till he was sure his shaking legs would hold him. That vultures wings seemed to haunt him everywhere. Or maybe the fever setting in was making him delirious. Altaïr let the horse loos to eat the nearby hay while he staggered into the old hut. He dropped his supplies and heard the thud of the bottle of alcohol he had stolen from the previous hut. He stripped down to once again scrub his robes white ad drape them over various places. Again he washed from a bucket of water this time. Then he uncorked the bottle and though about drinking it to dull his pain and burn off his fever. He could hear Malik chastising him about how alcohol thinned the blood and made you bleed more. So he used it for the original purpose he had stolen it for. He doused his wounded in it. He tried to muffle his initial scream of pain by biting one a cloth.

He woke crumpled on the floor.

Maybe he didn't wake.

The snap of annoyed wings ruffled in his ears. A large shadow moved around him. Altaïr blurred in and out of fevered dreams. The stabbing pain made him sure he collapsed outside where that tenacious buzzard must be pecking at his flesh. Vaguely in the back of his mind he could hear Malik speaking small instructions or chastising him for trying to do so much while already injured. He voiced his protests futilely. There was no time, he needed to get to Masyaf. A hand pushed him back onto the bed. Altaïr murmured Malik's name. Only Malik cared this much about Altaïr. When did Malik grow wings? Maybe it was an angel of Kadar? He sank back into fevered sleep.

There was no way of knowing how long he had been asleep or healing. He woke to find his fever broken, his wounds crudely stitched and neatly bandaged. Not Malik's work after all. He was mending well. He sat up carefully and flexed each muscle to test his abilities. He slid cautiously from the bed and dressed. Sniffing the food, he chose not to eat it in case it was drugged. Altaïr found all his weapons and armour where he had dropped it all. A shiver raced down his spine at the scattering of black and white feather. He whispered about foreign sorcery and hurried out of the ruined hut.

"You grouse like a woman when you are wounded," chuckled a voice with the faintest hint of familiarity.

Altaïr spun to face the man, the priest or monk from Acre. It was the one who spoke to him in the church, the same one who saved him from drowning. From under his hood many expressed danced till his eyes fell upon the white feathered and black feathered headless chickens in the monk's left hand, hanging by their feet. The monk gingerly pushed back Altaïr's hood and their eyes met. The gaul and fearlessness of the monk and the his half grin as he left Altaïr to take the chinks in the house made Altaïr feel like a total fool for the flitting thought that angels existed. No dream Malik had cared for him.

Altaïr coughed to clear his throat and hoarsely spoke, "Thank… thank you for your care. I must go." He wasn't even sure why he thanked the man or spoke at all. He pulled his hood back up.

"Eat first. You will need your strength."

Altaïr weighed the need to get moving, the desire to run away, the urge to kill, and the intense growl of his stomach at the thought to cooked meat. The monk emerged from the ruined hut and shoved a plate of food into Altaïr's chest. He had to grab it quickly to not drop it. He pulled from his belt pouch the black and white feathers he had stored for Malik and scrutinized them as he ate.

"Like white knights and black bishops. Some kings must fall. I will pray for your success."

Altaïr tucked the feathers away in the pouch with the black bishop piece not bothering to question the monk or even wonder at the strangenesses anymore. On the horse, he glanced back, but there was no monk where moments ago there was. Altaïr concluded that maybe he did dream everything after all and vowed to listen to Malik from now one about resting and healing properly. Clearly ignoring Malik leads to degrees of madness.

He kicked the horse into a run.

A/N #2 – So… who gets to Masyaf first? Malik or Altaïr?


	210. Chapter 210: Called by the Sword King

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Are you nervous? Excited? I am!

* * *

Altaïr kicked the horse into a run.

Armed with information that could ruin the Brotherhood, Malik hurried back to the Bureau.

Naheem shook out his hand, sore from transcribing so many notes from information the informants brought to him. War. The news was not good at all. Saladin's armies had moved into the south. Richard's army held Arsuf and the boarder to the Holy Land. The other news Naheem kept was in a different book, for Malik. The last of the informants vanished out the roof for the day as Naheem tried to finish the notes. He scrubbed his face with worry and closed the secret log. Malik had been gone for days. Naheem fiddled with the slip of paper in his pocket. Al Mualim ordered the assassins back to Masyaf to protect it from invasion. Naheem did not follow through with the command. His trust in this mysterious master was too thin. But what if he was wrong? He didn't know what to do. What if Malik did not return?

The door rattled. Naheem's eyes snapped to it. He had obeyed Malik and kept things carefully locked. He even had things packed and hidden just in case… just in case the Bureau was breached. It rattled again. Naheem grabbed the two log books and ran into the back. he dropped them into an oiled burlap sack, lifted the waste grill, and leaned into it. He held his breath as he swung the sack a little hearing the lock clang and the door open.

"Naheem?"

The novice froze.

"Naheem?"

"Master Malik?" Naheem called back. He almost regretted the stench he inhaled as he had yelled back. he refrained from dropping the log books and wriggled back out of the waster grill opening.

Malik locked the door and was greeted by a strong and foul smelling hug.

After some cleaning up and a good dinner, Naheem shared what he had learned so far. The dealings and cross dealings. The lies and the deceptions against both leaders, Saladin and Richard. All in the name of God and for God's treasures. Naheem had not put all the pieces together yet, but Malik was sure it would not be long, especially with the information he had to add to this.

"Naheem. You are a good novice, the best I have seen in a long time. You know we have a traitor in our ranks. I know who it is. So does Altaïr. He goes for the traitor now. He doesn't know what he is about to encounter. I need to help him. Go to the aviary and send out these messages." Malik scrawled out a list and the message. The men on his list would know. Some months ago when he was sure of a traitor, Malik had sent word to those he trusted and send them to hide and train and wait. He would call them and they would know.

_King of Swords stands ready at the ruined tower._

"Master Malik?" Naheem guiltily handed over the wrinkled slip of paper from the message bird.

Malik examined it. It bode poorly for Altaïr. He changed his list for Naheem and then ordered Naheem to run the Bureau as normal, as if nothing had changed. Naheem asked who the traitor was and Malik refused to tell him, nor where he learned the truth. "For your sake, my novice. You must remain ignorant. If have no answers, then they cannot get them from you by torture."

"Do you think someone will come to torture me for answers?" It was an honest question.

Malik gave him the most honest answer, "Yes, it is very possible."

It was sobering and terrifying. "Guess I won't be getting married after all," whispered Naheem as his eyes drifted to a recent sketch of Tibah he had done.

Malik wished to comfort this young man. The words came too easily, "Don't give up on that just yet, boy." Malik aimed with the small tease, much like he calls Altaïr novice. "We will go on and the Creed must still be upheld." Malik tapped the picture. "Run the Bureau as if I were here. See her as if I had sent you. Send word to Masyaf as if I wrote it. You know how to run this place. Oh… and don't you dare forget your lessons, any of them."

Naheem nodded his promise. Malik left the next day with some maps for a fort outside the city.

Some of his trusted men and a few assassins from Jerusalem joined him. They stole horses at their earliest convenience and followed Malik's maps through narrow passageways and back routes as he cut a path toward Masyaf. The rode through the ruins to a tower and waited a day for friends, brothers in arms.

Malik made sure they knew what they were facing, warned them of the innocents they might face, and reminded them of the Creed. Scouting ahead told them more, including that Altaïr had recently passed. Malik shook his head. Altaïr could be very efficient when he wanted to be. More often than not, Altaïr tossed discretion off the eagle point.

Malik prayed that Altaïr had not abandoned the Creed. That prayer was soon followed by the prayer that Altaïr was still alive.

* * *

A/N #2 – *nail biting*


	211. Chapter 211: Altair and the Brainwashed

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – There is something awesome, scary and totally humbling to discover that there are about 400-600 people worldwide reading this fic. Pardon while I run screaming for a while before I write another chapter. So um… thank you? Thank you.

* * *

Malik prayed that Altaïr had not abandoned the Creed. That prayer was soon followed by the prayer that Altaïr was still alive.

Altaïr met no resistance outside Masyaf. At first he thought nothing of it. He was an assassin after all, why should he encounter such trouble. But as he walked the horse past the guard posts and to the stable, he had the chilling feeling of wrongness. There were no guards. None. No where. It was as if the tower and entry gates had been abandoned.

Thinking that maybe he had actually been too late in encountering Robert, that maybe Masyaf had already fallen to the combined army… but that was foolish. He already met with King Richard, who surprisingly shone the blue of a trusted ally. He ran into the city. The quiet was liken to the tombs of the old temples. There was no one there either, not even rotting bodies. Littering carcases Altaïr could deal with. This… this made him uneasy. It was too much like many of his nightmares.

He walked cautiously through the town of Masyaf toward the central fountain of the lower part of the city. He dared to look into homes. Empty. Empty with food burned to nothing on the cook fires, or still warm on tables. There were no signs of fleeing or fighting. Altaïr jerked aside at the movement of a shadow. A cat hopped off a table where it was stealing food off a plate. Everything was so quiet. The only sounds were of the occasional animal. No hustle and bustle of men at the stable or the market, no babbling and clanging of women doing the laundry or the cooking, no shrill playful cries of children chasing each other through the streets.

A man lumbers by the fountain and Altaïr approached, demanding answers, "What happened here? Where is everyone?"

The man replied in a monotone, "Gone to see the Master."

"Was it the Templars? Did they attack again?"

Again the man replied in an eerie monotone, "They walk the path."

"The path? What path?" Altaïr did not understand. "What are you talking about?

The man continued almost as if Altaïr had not spoken to him, "… Towards the light."

"Speak sense!"

"There is only what the Master shows us. This is the truth."

_No… this is the truth._ "You have lost your mind!" Altaïr had no other explanation.

"You too will walk the path or you will perish." The man's words sounded like a threat to Altaïr, what Robert had warned him of in the fog. "Sword and Master commands."

"It was Al Mualim, wasn't it?" Altaïr needed to be absolutely sure. As hateful as the treatment was to him by his Master, Al Mualim made Altaïr what he was today, the very best assassin. He even helped Altaïr better understand the Creed when he stepped too far beyond it and failed Malik. Al Mualim was mentor and father in a way. "What has he done to you?"

"Praise be to the Master for he has led us to the light!" The man sounded like one of those religious fanatics.

Altaïr could take no more of his words and fled through the city to climb to the upper markets. Chest heaving, he molded himself to the stones at the side of a building. There were few things more creeping or terrifying than this. Water. And walking dead.

Altaïr heard movement on the other side of the building. Soldiers marching feet. They formed up in the clearing at the bottom of the hill path that wound its way up to the castle and training grounds of Masyaf. Altaïr forced his breathing to slow down, tried to quiet his heard and listened. He tried to count how many were there without looking, without giving away his position. His heart pounded in his ears. He risked a swift glance.

Masyaf guards and trained assassins between ranks five and eight. Brothers.

He approached as asked about the city as he had to the first man. The answers from them were the same. They invited him to join them on the path, to join them in the light. At his refusal they attacked!

* * *

A/N #2 – short chapters, sorry.


	212. Chapter 212: Journey of Robert's Journal

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – I wanted to know, didn't you? Long chapter to make up for the shorter ones.

* * *

Not all the informants had made it into the Bureau before Malik left, but Malik could not wait. He had given a date for them to return or send information and left right after. So when the last one dropped through the roof into the Bureau, Naheem nearly died of fright. The older informant was wounded, too. He was scraped and gashed and bleeding. Naheem immediately helped him into the back and did what he could to wash and roughly bandage the wounds. Just the bleeding would not stop. The informant had been in the old Temple of Solomon seeking clues behind Robert de Sable. He held out a bloodied journal, "Get it to Malik. He… urgh! He needs to see this."

Naheem hid the journal for the moment. Saving this life came first to him. He rushed out, locking the door, and was almost too careless in front of guards who demanded why he was trying to run with his bad limp. "I… I spilled cerulean blue ink! The map is due today! I need to get more before the client arrives. I'm just the novice… I... I have to go!" The guards let him go and laughed at how scared the novice was on his own without his master. Naheem had no intention of enlightening them about his true anxiety.

He arrived to the market too late. The stalls were closed up for the evening. His next destination was the home of the woman he was courting. The Creed ran through Naheem's mind. What he was about to do would break that. But if he married Tibah, wouldn't she know anyways? Wasn't she going to train under Malik and thus be the doctor Naheem could not be? When she arrived with her brother, he made a decision. "Tibah? I need your help. I am not my uncle." His voice shook just a little.

Tibah stepped indecently close to him. He keep eyes saw the blood dotted shirt Naheem hid under his overshirt. "I'll get my books and some supplies. Wash it, bandage it, and put pressure. I'll be there as soon as I can." Naheem decided he loved her already, more than the growing crush. Her keenness was simply incredible to him and saved him from breaking any oaths. He hurried back to do as she said.

The informant however, was already dead.

"NOOOO!" he screamed. "NOOO! No…" Naheem sank to his knees and buried his face into his hands and fisting his hands in his hair.

He ran from there to the old man's house, the old Dai. Junayd was out at language lessons and the man often just called Grandfadder by Junayd took the news of his son's death sadly, but in stride as an eventual expectation. He walked back with Naheem to teach him what to do. Another informant was summoned. Tibah sat with Naheem on the carpets. He sat there tapping his cane on the ground feeling totally useless and like he just broke every rule and failed Malik. He failed that informant who died on him. He threw the cane and watched it clatter and scare the pigeons. "It was just a stupid book!"

All eyes suddenly turned to him. He heard the door lock. Grandfadder took over after the body of his eldest son was snuck out to be dealt with in private. He demanded to see the book. Tibah swore her brother to silence for his lover's sake. Kadar stayed out of the way, but kept a hand on his sword hilt. The old dai was too old to fight, if he even knew how. Tibah couldn't fight. And Naheem, well Kadar didn't think Naheem was trained enough to really fight. Naheem retrieved the book and let the old dai look through it.

Grandfadder skimmed it and gasped. "This… Master Malik needs this. He needs this now." The urgency strained in the wrinkles of his face.

Naheem's eyes flitted back and forth as though he searched his mind for if he could leave this place to get to Malik or not then hung his head to confess, "I don't know how to ride." Altair had guided hi9s horse and only showed him th4e basics. This run to Malik needed someone with experience.

"I'll go." The silence echoed off the walls as everyone looked then to young Kadar. "I can fight and I can ride. And I owe Master Malik a life."

The old dai nodded, "You would be saving more than one life but the whole of the Holy Land."

Tibah was so proud of her brother. However that evaporated when he planned to take her home. She wanted to stay. Naheem needed help, needed someone with him after this trauma. "No Tibah, Propriety. You go home now. There isn't time to argue."

"How dare you speak to me about propriety!"

"Tibah! You are not married to him yet and I don't want what happened to Abby to happen to you," Kadar pleaded with his wilful sister. She sighed and let him escort her home, but not before she kissed Naheem's cheek for comfort. He needed all he could get.

The old man ordered Naheem to scrub up all evidence of the blood, then log the death. Naheem apologized often to the old man who lost his eldest son. They then closed up the Bureau and changed the flags to announce closure. Just for a few days. They secured everything away from potential prying eyes.

Kadar returned later that afternoon with travel armour on, and a second shorter sword tied in with his first. Over his shoulder was a satchel with some food and water for travel and letters for passage and for securing a horse. His father seemed much more understanding than Kadar had expected, and yet nervous for his son. Kadar knew he would be riding into potential danger just by his father's reaction.

Naheem provided Kadar with maps and wondered if Malik would kill him for this breach. Grandfadder assured him that the need seriously outweighed the consequence at this point. The old dai also strongly advised Kadar to be cautious as Malik had hardened warriors with him and they might try to harm him as he is a stranger. He should call out the greeting of "Safety & peace from novices of Jerusalem" should he meet anyone. If they still attack, he should run. Malik and his men would not attack if that greeting were called out.

Kadar left immediately with the book wrapped well and hidden under his chest armour.

Grandfadder brought Naheem to Tibah's home where he would find comfort. Naheem would have to serve in Kadar's place in the mornings and serve the Bureau as the scribe and map maker in the afternoons. Left on the doorstep like a foundling, Naheem didn't feel ready to face humans. He climbed the nearest ladder and sat on a roof. If he had disliked killing a man to protect others, he disliked even more failing to save the life of one in the Bureau where safety and peace were supposed to be assured. His eyes blurred with threatening tears. He pulled up his knees and buried his face in his arms. He thought he had felt someone hug him gentle but was too distraught to see who. A soft feather brushed his cheek and the person left. A man's voice whispered, "This was not your fault. You have done as best as you could. The rest is now up to others. Be strong or them for when they return." Naheem remained on the roof till well after sunset before he climbed back down and shyly knocked upon the estate door.

Tibah's father drew him in like a father to a broken son. He found sanctuary there for the night. Tibah received firm instructions from her elder sister and mother on wifely behaviour and duty which she would serve this night to her betrothed. She served him a late meal, prepared a bedroom for him, and sat chastely in silence… hating every second. Her mother brought in the triplets to distract the two young adults from their own thoughts and frustrations. Naheem was patient, watchful and altogether too adorable with the babies, especially once he realized Altair's son was the boy. He would know those golden eyes anywhere. When the babes went to bed, Naheem was offered paper and some charcoals to draw. Tibah knew what soothed him already and her mother was very proud. Naheem quietly vented onto the pages with many rough and refined sketches.

He bathed alone and had evening drinks with Tibah's father and Abby, Kadar's badly scarred but alive lover. Naheem retired for the night to draw in the bed Tibah had prepared for him. He felt so… useless. He had weathered so much and found himself unable to weather this, not understanding why. It was very late, past midnight when Tibah secretly slipped into his bedroom. He thought it was one of their servants or her father. He scrubbed his face with the edge of his sleeve to try to appear presentable. Tibah sank gently upon his bed and rubbed his back. "You should not be here," he whispered.

"You should not have to be alone after what happened today," she countered in a soft voice.

He looked down at the picture he was trying to draw of her with a child in her arms.

She echoed the stranger's words from the roof, "What happened was not your fault, Naheem. You did the best you could. His wounds from the accident in the old Temple were just too great. You are a strong man and will still be that tomorrow." She smiled at him as his eyes met her warm brown ones. Her hair matched her eyes with tiny strands of gold mixed in that caught the candlelight, reminders that her mother was European and not Middle Eastern. He lost himself in those warm brown eyes. "Are you worried about your uncle and the eagle?" At his nod she continued with a surety that he clung to, "They will be fine. I know. Angels watch over them all the time. Just like they watch over you too."

They watched each other in silence for a few minutes while he drank in her support. She caressed his cheek before asking, "That picture, is that what you want one day?"

"One day. I want to … share… share who I am before anything happens." He looked away again as his shyness wiggled under his skin. Her tough pulled his eyes back to her.

Tibah closed her eyes, leaned in and softly pressed her lips to his.

Naheem froze at first, then relaxed into the curious kiss. "When I am with you, once I learn from your uncle, this sad thing will not happen again. We will be a very good team." She fingered the picture. "I love this picture best, of all the ones I seen you draw. May I keep it?"

"Tomorrow, when I finish it." He tasted his lips to see if he could taste her on them. "Tibah? Thank you."

She kissed his cheek innocently before she left his room.

In this moment, Naheem didn't feel alone. He thought he would have been scared about her in his bedroom when he was hardly decent, when she was hardly decent. He thought he would have so much anxiety when she kissed him. But he did not. It simply felt… right. Just right. He finished the drawing and went to sleep with a small prayer that the angels she spoke of would indeed watch over Malik, Altair, and Kadar who was riding out to meet them.

Kadar had no trouble securing a horse on his father's order from the stables outside. He tied the satchel of papers, maps, some apothecary bottles of medicine and one bottle of ink over his horse and the other with food and water for his travel. He secured his head scarf to be safe from the sun and rode off up the road. He kept his horse at a steady but fast pace as long as it could handle it. He stopped to water it while he studied the map. He slept in the saddle the first night and regretted that choice. The next night as he drew closer to the ruins on his map he debated sleeping in the ruins or riding through them in the dark. Neither option sat well with him. He slept in the hay outside the ruins. Riding through them in the day was unnerving enough, especially as he exited them to a wasted battlefield of mostly rotted corpses. The horse picked its way through. Kadar saw the ruined tower up the hill and steered the horse to it. He called out the greeting, but was met with silence. He explored the tower, but found nothing, nothing but the faded warm spot of a fire from the night. He was not much more than half a day behind Master Malik. Excited, he rode the horse hard through the roads. He was hauled aside by every guard post and soldier from that point on. And he had recently thought how boring it was riding and doing nothing.

By the time he reached the village where all the roads intersected, he was well pissed off with being stopped by guards. His letters from his father had gotten him past most of the guards with not too much trouble. Ok, sometimes he had to draw blade and cross swords to prove he meant business. But otherwise it was mostly just annoying. At the village, he was again hauled aside when he tried to ride through it. He fought and argued. They held him back and searched all his belonging. It earned him a fist full of chain mail to the mouth as he watched them empty all his packs and search his whole person. He tried not to panic when the tossed the book they found on him to the ground and kept searching. They confiscated his coin and demanded what the weird bottles were. For the tenth time this day, he explained about his father's apothecary. They hit him in the face again and then left him be. Kadar growled to himself as he repacked everything. He spat the tooth they knocked loose and wondered how Master Malik got past these men.

Bruised, tired, hungry, Kadar trotted the horse onward up the long road into the rough and rugged terrain of the mountains toward Masyaf. The sun set long before he saw anything akin to buildings. He sagged in the saddle and tried hard not to fall asleep, or off. A scuffling noise made his horse rear and throw him to the ground. Two men pounced on him in seconds. "Safety… safety and peace," he winced out, "Safety and peace from the novices of Jerusalem."

"Hold! Don't kill him."

Kadar wasn't sure if that was the Master map maker or not. It sounded like him, but much more sure, in command, much scarier of a man, like his father when his father chose to be. And these men Master Malik was with, slipped in and out of sight like trained ghosts with swift deadly teeth. Demons. Assassins.

"What in Allah's name are YOU doing here, Kadar?"

Kadar was starting to ask himself the same question. He dared not move in case an assassin threw a knife and ended him.

"Naheem… book…" He hated that he stammered. He ran his tongue over the missing front tooth and swollen lip. "Naheem got a book that some old guy said you must have. Someone died trying to get it to you. The old guy said it was a matter of life and death of the whole of the Holy Land, your life and the life of some eagle my sister babbles about. You saved Abby's life. So I said I would take it to you since no one else could and not like anyone of them could fight god forsaken soldiers that I hope go to HELL!" Malik's hand gripped his chin and forced his face to turn into the moonlight. "I just want to get back home… alive…"

"You will rest with us tonight. Then you will go straight back home. This is no place for you. I'll show you on a map a different way back to Jerusalem, a safer way. Give me this book." Malik helped him up.

Wary of the shadows now, Kadar pulled the book out and handed it over to Malik. He then followed Malik into a building he swore was a cave a moment ago, it was so well camouflaged. Malik commanded the men around him, four men, to take rounds for the night in case anyone followed this young man here. Then ordered another to bring Kadar some food and water, while he treated Kadar's wounds. "Now you have a battle wound to tell Abby about for your heroics."

Kadar scoffed. "Battle wound. It was stupid. I should have moved. I don't know why I just stood there."

"Well, next time then, you will move." Malik's words were of little comfort other than that they sounded much like what his father would have said. After a full belly, sleep came easily, but when he woke, he woke alone. He wondered if maybe he had dreamed it all, but the book was gone. His packs were filled with fresh provisions and ready on his horse. He rode home not feeling like much of any hero.

Through the night, read through the book, Robert's journal. The French was exotic, but not impossible to read. Malik was fluent in many languages, French among them. What he read was both shocking and heart wrenching for the fate of people. Altair was walking right into that. Altair might be the only one who could end it before it ends the whole of the Holy Land. He shared some of what he read to the horror of the four men with him. There was so much in this journal. Malik wanted to study all the secrets within those pages, but that would have to wait till later. Altair came first. Just before Dawn they all invisibly abandoned the young guard to weave through the fallen old stones and trees that marked the road into the city of Masyaf.

Still no sign of Altair.

They took cautious routes to the higher grounds. Malik met the man at the fountain that Altair had met. The sound of battle echoes eerily off the stones and buildings. Malik rounded a boulder of the upper road to an opening where he and his four men could look down.

Altair approached as asked the assassins about the city as he had to the first man. The answers from them were the same. They invited him to join them on the path, to join them in the light. At his refusal they attacked!

Malik's men readied throwing knives at his order. They felled five men and Altair regrettably killed two more.

* * *

A/N #2 – tying up the loose ends, touching base with the OC's, hope you liked this chapter


	213. Chapter 213: Altair Trapped

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Black bishop aids white knight.

* * *

Altair approached as asked the assassins about the city as he had to the first man. The answers from them were the same. They invited him to join them on the path, to join them in the light. At his refusal they attacked!

Malik's men readied throwing knives at his order. They felled five men and Altair regrettably killed two more. Altair Spun to look up at the higher ground, ready with a throwing knife of his own in case the aid was not so friendly.

"Altair! Up here!" Malik called.

Altair could hardly believe it. "You picked a fine time to arrive." The relief was evident in his voice.

"So it seems."

"Guard yourself well friend. AL Mualim has betrayed us." Altair walked up the path to where the higher ground intersected it.

"Betrayed his Templar allies as well."

Altair felt stunned. He thought he alone knew that as Robert had told him so in the fog, "How? How do you know?"

Altair needed to know Malik trusted him, needed to know that Malik actually did as he asked, and did not think him crazy. It was one thing for Malik to seem to behave so, but Altair needed to hear it sometimes. Malik needed to say it to reassure Altair, "After we spoke, I sent men out to seek the answers you asked. I went out to seek the answers. I found many things both shocking and disturbing. I came as soon as I could. Then … Then I got my hands on something found in the ruins of the old Temple of Solomon."

Altair winced at what might be spoken next. He wished then he had not asked Malik to do some personal digging. He braced himself for losing everything again and knew somewhere that he must deserve it.

"Robert had kept a journal," Malik explained. It was not what Altair expected to hear. "He filled its pages with revelations. What I read there broke my heart. But it also opened my eyes." Altair could say and do nothing but listen. "You were right Altair. All along, our master has used us. We were not meant to save the Holy Land but to deliver it to him. He must be stopped!"

It was what Altair had suspected but this was more than he had known for sure. The words about a New World Order from the Master, Master Al Mualim, suddenly made sickening sense. Altair knew he had to fave AL Mualim himself. Malik, as good as he was, could not endure the Master. "Be careful Malik. What he has done to the others, he will do to us the chance that he can." Then he remembered how AL Mualim had indeed tried to control his mind by making him gaze upon the treasure. It had no effect, not on Altair. "Malik, you must stay far from him!"

Clearly Malik had intended to fight by Altair's side. As much as Altair wanted that, deeply he did, he did not want to risk Malik's mind being twisted and controlled. He did not want to perhaps be forced to fight, and kill, this man, this one he cared too much for. "Then, what do you propose?" Malik asked, deferring to Altair for the first time. "My blade arm is still strong and my men remain my own. It would be a mistake not to use us."

Altair searched quickly in his mind. He needed a plan. He needed to get to the Master without having to fight everyone to get there. Altair knew he would kill anyone in his path. And they hardly deserved dying because they were brainwashed into mindlessness. "Distract these thralls then." Altair thought a moment more, feeling so very weird giving Malik the orders. He glanced at Malik and saw him nod approval. Taking the orders from Altair were not just his choice, but also for the men with Malik. He was securing trusted men for Altair. It was a coup… and Altair was made to be the leader of it. If it went well, he would end up the new Master. If it went poorly, then Malik and his men could be spared for their ignorance of following a madman. It was encouragingand saddening. However, they were running out of time. Altair took change, "Yes, distract these thralls. Assault the fortress from behind. If you can draw their attention away from me, I might reach Al Mualim." Altair rarely called the Master by his name, but he has lost the right to be respected by such titles now.

"I will do as you ask Dai, Master." Malik reinforced his deferral to Altair. His men gave him questioning looks for a moment, but only a moment. If Malik was accepting Altair as the new Master, then it must be so. Altair had redeemed himself, and more so, would save their Order and the Holy Land. He would be the great eagle, the Hero of Masyaf once again. They took up defensive positions to follow the orders.

"Malik, these men that we face, their minds are not their own. If you can avoid killing them…" Altair hoped he made the good impression Malik had set him up for. He hoped he had really learned and thus earned what Malik was offering him. He didn't have time to wonder if he was qualified or ready.

"Yes, Altair. Though he has betrayed the tenets of the Creed, it does not mean that we must as well." Malik always was the moral compass. "I'll do what I can."

"It's all I ask," Altair believed in him and that helped him believe in himself. "Safety and peace my friend." Altair doubted he would live to see Malik again, but he was certain he would take Al Mualim down before he perished.

Malik gave Altair a bow and used words that were too similar to the first words he had spoken to Altair in Jerusalem, "You presence here…" Altair held his breath. "… will deliver us both."

In that, Altair understood. They had been manipulated all their lives from the moment they had met, perhaps before. They were both prisoners of Al Mualim's plans. For himself, for Malik, for the brothers they lost due to this treachery, Altair set his resolve. Al Mualim must die.

Altair continued on to the fortress courtyard while Malik and his men planned their attacks and defenses. The courtyard was filled with people. Citizens, guards, soldiers, assassins, servants. Men, women, children. Altair heard them spewing about walking the path to the light. He calmed his mind as best he could and looked at them again. He scanned for the flickers of gold or red. All he saw was white, the shimmering aura of innocent people. He carefully wove through them, murmuring reminders to himself about the Creed. It felt like he walked through a sea of the dead, raised by evil necromancy. Zombies. All they were missing was rotting flesh, which he was sure would come due to neglect. He shuddered.

Altair turned his back on the mindless horde and walked through the gates of the fortress. A preliminary search of the libraries revealed nothing and no one. A further search up the stairs and around the Master's desk revealed also nothing, not even the treasure. The Master must carry it with him. He clenched his fists and his jaw before invading the private office, map room and sleeping quarters. Flashes of the things done to him sent sweat racing down his spine. The Master was not here either. That left one last place. The gardens with the women and servants.

He descended the stairs and walked cautiously out into the gardens. Invisible hand suddenly gripped him, spun him, stretched him out as if on a torture rack. "NO! What... what's happening?" Could phantoms be real after all? He stood frozen in place, unable to move, wrapped in this strange sorcery. His heart pounding in his ears.

"So!" Al Mualim called from a ledge above, "The student returns."

* * *

A/N #2 – despite the best laid plans... we are still sometimes caught in the trap.


	214. Chapter 214: Malik Borrows Time

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Touching base once more with the OC's.

* * *

"So!" Al Mualim called from a ledge above, "The student returns."

Naheem escorted his betrothed to the merchant booth and stayed with her till her father arrived. He wanted over and over to ask her what she knew of what he did and the order he was in. She would pass him as she set up and scoop up his hand. Her fingers would play through his and almost purposely touch at his missing finger. He would open his mouth to say something only to find her other hand covering it as she smiled behind her veil. He would smile under her fingers. It was a sad smile though. The night of the dying informant still shook him.

Once Tibah's father arrived, Naheem limped through the city to the builders' guild where he took drafting lessons. He had to give the impression that nothing was wrong, that life moved through normal obligations of the nephew and novice. Then he would lunch in the Bureau and sometimes open it up for scribe or mapping business. The praise he received from the occasional client helped bolster his confidence. The occasional informant would slip in now and then to update him on news and events and concerns. He would return to the market square in the evening to help close it up and escort Tibah home where he supped with her family. He stayed overnight there a couple of times till he felt he could face that back room of the Bureau again.

Every three days, Junayd would still show up. He was saddened by the loss of his informant mentor, Grandfadder's eldest son. The two would yell at each other a little, then fight. When Naheem hit Junayd hard, he felt so very sorry. Junayd repaid the hit with a decent knife cut on Naheem's chin. Then stood in silent loss at each other, ashamed knowing that Malik would be cross about their behaviour. They missed him much and worried. They walked together to see Tibah for stitches. She looked at them both very crossly. "Both of you ought to be ashamed of yourselves. You are practically brothers. To draw blood from each other. SHAME." They both hung their heads as she treated each of them. "You have both lost someone. Why don't you try supporting each other instead."

The next time Junayd came to the Bureau, Naheem was more mature and ready to handle the little novice. They prayed together for Malik and Altair. Naheem added Tibah's brother to their prayers. They worked on lessons together. Junayd offered to help at the Bureau and learn a little of what Naheem does. Naheem welcomed the company. They sparred in the late afternoon before dinner. Naheem showed Junayd the unarmed combat he had learned from Altair. Junayd taught Naheem some acrobatics.

Naheem still went to Tibah's for dinner though. His ulterior motive was to check on Sufyan (Stephan) for Malik and Altair. Malik would have checked on the child if he was there. Instead, Malik and his four men struggled through civilians of Masyaf. Two of the men did their best to be distractions on the front steps while Malik and two men snuck around the back. Malik needed help with the climbing. It insulted him, but he dared not complain at the moment. He directed his men to attack, draw away the other assassins. They worked on suppressing them without killing them, at wherever they could. People would die by the end of this anyways.

A yell came up that there were prisoners still in the dungeons, not brainwashed. Malik ordered they be left there for their own safety for the moment. In the fortress itself, the fight was furious. It was all Malik could do to give Altair time. Five men against so many, including hordes of civilians, Malik worried he would never get to Altair. It was like riding a horse through a desert without water and being chased by the dust devils and mirage phantoms. He knew he could not interfere with Altair's fight or it would compromise it. But this running and dodging grew more and more difficult.

Riding hard through desert heat was never fun. Young Kadar had clued in now. Master Malik was part of the assassin's guild. Did that mean so was Naheem? Did their father know? Whose side were the assassins on? Every shadow spooked him. He rode his horse so hard it falters and broke a leg, throwing him. The back path on the map took him skirting so close to the war zones. He stole a horse and rode on.

The feeling on all fronts was that eerie sense that they were running out of time.

Another informant dropped in and died. His message in his hand was confusing, at least for Naheem.

_Damascus belongs to a new order, the Rafiq has claimed his own sect. Send no one there._

Naheem wished Malik were here. He had no training on how to handle this or what to do next. He wished Altair were there to deal with this. The Brotherhood was splitting into schisms. Time slipped by like sand in the hourglass… unstoppably.

All he could do was pretend… pretend everything was normal, like Malik did. He had to be a good student. He trusted Malik as his master. He trusted Altair as his master too.

At some point, though, the student will have to stand on their own. Naheem was not yet ready to do that. However, he hoped Altair was… facing his master, Master Al Mualim.

* * *

A/N #2 – wow… that felt much more morbid than I intended. Oh well…


	215. Chapter 215: Altair Battles Illusions

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – What sorcery is this! Here ends the games story… in a few parts

* * *

At some point, though, the student will have to stand on their own. Naheem was not yet ready to do that. However, he hoped Altair was… facing his master, Master Al Mualim.

Altair descended the stairs and walked cautiously out into the gardens. Invisible hands suddenly gripped him, spun him, stretched him out as if on a torture rack. "NO! What... what's happening?" Could phantoms be real after all? He stood frozen in place, unable to move, wrapped in this strange sorcery. His heart pounded in his ears.

"So!" Al Mualim called from a ledge above, "The student returns."

How did he miss the man? Altair had been in that room, on that whole floor. He cursed himself for not using that auric seeing. Maybe he would have seen the old Master in hiding otherwise. He doubted his specialness knowing how trapped he felt. He thought he was immune to this thing in his Master's hand. Maybe he wasn't so immune. Sounding bold, hurt and betrayed, he declared loudly, "I have never been one to run!"

Al Mualim scoffed, "Never been one to listen either."

"I still live because of it," not that Altair didn't listen, he simply listened selectively. And lately, he gauged what he heard with Malik before he listened. There was a difference after all, between hearing and listening. Hearing was the simple auditory function of observing sounds or words. Listening was when you gave those sounds and words attention, enough to think about them and judge them. You could then discard some of what you listened to as just sounds you heard if they proved unworthy or proved to be lies. How much of this… of his life… was a lie. He chose not to listen to those thoughts for he wanted to live, at least now he wanted to live… for Malik.

"What will I do with you," mused the one-eyed Master.

"Let me go," stated Altair matter-of-factly. It was worth a shot.

Al Mualim knew Altair well enough to know the emotions buried under those words spoken so stoically. Altair was only that stoic when he was beyond furious. "Oh Altair, I hear the hatred in your voice. Let you go? No, that would be unwise."

"Why are you doing this?" demanded Altair as he strained immovably against his invisible shackles.

Al Mualim raised the glowing treasure, "I found proof!" Triumph rumbled from rolling tongue.

"Proof of what?"

Raised higher, the treasure glows even brighter. "Proof, Altair, that nothing is true and everything IS permitted!" Al Mualim leaned a little over the rail on the ledge balcony. "Come!" he summoned, "Destroy the betrayer! Send him from this world!"

Altair feared few things and one of those was swiftly vanishing. His Master was a traitor against everything Altair believed in. His other fears included water, so much of that having been Al Mualim's doing, and losing Malik. He did have one other fear and it had crawled over his flesh the entire walk through this city as it had plagued his nightmares. Walking dead. Out of the shadows stepped the dead, those nine targets Altair had killed already. The sweat froze on his skin watching them approach. Phantoms… created by this Apple of Eden.

As he was released, a stray thought wondered why it was called the Apple when Apples were not native to this Holy Land. Apples were a foreign, European import. Should it not be a pomegranate? There was no time to dwell on the oddity. He was released from the magical restraints to fight. And fight he had to for even though these were phantoms, they hit for real and drew blood for real. His nightmares were before him, haunting him in the real world, avenging their own deaths. Altair fought for his life, and his sanity.

As each fell, the fog did not come. Altair expected the fog. But these were soulless copies.

Altair staggered, panting and catching his breath, relieved that his nightmares did not last long and once the ninth, Robert, died, they faded like mirages. Altair looked back up to the ledge, but AL Mualim was gone. He spun and yelled, "Face me! Or are you afraid?"

Altair's body snapped back into those invisible restraints. Now Altair was sure that he did not have the unique quality to resist the power of this orb after all. Al Mualim snarled back at Altair's insolence, "I have stood before a thousand men! All of them superior to you! And all of them dead-by my hand! I am not afraid!" It was indeed how most grandmasters became so, they fought and killed their way to the top, often taking the life of their former grandmaster.

Using this time to calm himself, gather his wits, and allow his strength to return, Altair continued to bate his old Master. He would never have done this in the past, never, but then he never thought he had anyone's real support. _Some things are true, my friend. And one of those things is how I feel about you._ Malik… Altair's anchor and lifeline, source and reason. He shoved aside any lingering pains from the fight a moment ago. He watched as Al Mualim strode down the stairs. The cane clacked twice before the old man of the mountain pulled it apart to reveal a sword. Altair's face wiped clean of emotions, his eyes darkened to deep fire. He dared, "Prove it."

"What could I possibly fear?" Al Mualim asked rhetorically, "Look at the power that I wield."

The invisible force tugged Altair's limbs almost to the snapping point as eight phantom copies of Al Mualim manifested before Altair's eyes, causing those eyes to widen a moment. This was even more impossible than raising the dead. At least there were known necromantic theories and texts about that, but this? This was impossible. The nine Al Mualim's walked towards him and surrounded him, raising their swords to point at him. He kept his eyes open in defiance of this immanent manslaughter.

Once again, Altair found himself free to fight. It was as if Al Mualim cockily wished to prove his point. Altair intended to prove him wrong. The fury rose to the surface, making Altair what he was best known for, a dangerous and wild and unpredictable killer. He abandoned any sense of moral fighting, abandoned his humanity, killed without remorse, cutting down these demon copies. He ignored or never noticed any wounds he might have incurred from the brutal battle. They too were like phantoms on his awareness. They were nothing.

Altair was nothing. At least he was reminded of that when the last of the Al Mualim's remained standing and the magic stretched him in the air again, immobilizing him. He panted, calming, refocusing. Awareness returned along with the pain of betrayal, not just for himself, but for all those in the Brotherhood. "Have you any final words?" asked Al Mualim.

Altair tried to spit the blood from his mouth. He was going to die anyways, he wanted was to know why or at least have given the Master real reason to end him. "You lied to me! Called Robert's goals foul when all along they were your own!"

Al Mualim shrugged, "I've never been very good at sharing."

Altair thought of Malik, "You won't succeed. Others will find the strength to stand against you." Although he deeply hoped Malik would not arrive yet, or would have the good sense to stay away. Of course Malik stayed out. Malik was never reckless like Altair. He was reliable, trustworthy, often too much by the book, but Altair found he loved that about Malik. Malik balanced him in that way.

"And this is why so long as men maintain free will, there can be no peace." Al Mualim paced before Altair as if gloating.

Altair growled, "I killed the last man who spoke as such."

A hand slapped Altair hard across the face. "Bold words, BOY! But just words!"

Menacingly low, Altair taunted, "Then let me go and I will put words into action." Al Mualim simply laughed out loud. "Then tell me… master," Altair's tone remained low and mocking, "why did you not make me like the other Assassins? Why allow me to retain my mind?"

"Who you are and what you do are twined too tight together. To rob you of one would have deprived me of the other. And those Templars had to die." Al Mualim sighed, "But the truth, is I did try, in my study, when I showed you the treasure. But you are not like the others. You saw through the illusion."

"Illusion?" Altair did not understand. He recalled the incident all too clearly and that which followed, but he still did not understand.

"That's all it's ever done, this Templar treasure, this Piece of Eden, this word of God. Do you understand now? The Red Sea was never parted, water never turned to wine. It was not the machinations of Ares that spawned the Trojan War, but this! Illusions! All of them!" He shook the treasure at Altair.

Altair thought to himself that those were remarkably real illusion. The cuts and bruises upon his body attested to that. However, he thought he was starting to understand the philosophical undercurrent and used it against his former master. "What you plan is no less an illusion-to force men against their will."

Al Mualim carelessly shrugged one shoulder. "Is it any less real than the phantoms the Saracens and Crusaders follow now? Those... craven gods who retreat from this world that men might slaughter one another in their names? They live amongst an illusion already. I'm simply giving them another, one that demands less blood."

It seemed so temping in a way, and yet so very very wrong, like honey laced with poison. "At least they CHOOSE these phantoms."

"Oh do they?" The old man raised his one eyebrow. "Aside from the occasional convert or heretic?"

"It isn't right!" That came out sounding more childish than Altair intended, especially since he was such an rationalizing atheist.

"Ahh, and now logic has left you. In its place you embrace emotion." His grey eye peered into the shadow of Altair's sanctuary. His fatherly tone cutting Altair as deeply as the sword might have, "I am disappointed in you." He watched Altair's hope and resolve flicker and fade.

* * *

A/N #2 – Hey all, I would love to know where my reviewers are hailing from. I am writing you from Montreal, Quebec, Canada. And as I promised some of you, this is NOT the last chapter. The game ends here, but I do not.


	216. Chapter 216: Malik Witnesses the Fog

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – I always hated that line about disappointment. My parents would use it on me when they wanted me well crushed with guilt. You?

* * *

"Ahh, and now logic has left you. In its place you embrace emotion." His grey eye peered into the shadow of Altair's sanctuary. His fatherly tone cutting Altair as deeply as the sword might have, "I am disappointed in you." He watched Altair's hope and resolve flicker and fade.

Malik remained still, back pressed to the wall on the left side of the garden doors. Every word he overheard, every word… made by despise Al Mualim even more. His only encounters with the man were mission related and brief. He had been jealous all through his growing up that Altair had the Master's attention, conversed at length with him, seemed to be the pet. Pet indeed. Altair was nothing more than a pawn. Malik recalled the first time Altair had moved a chess piece on his board in the Bureau, a pawn. _Be strong Altair. Be cunning. Be the white knight._

Malik quietly directed his men, now in the castle, to secure it, lock everyone out. Incapacitate if possible, injure if they must, kill if there was no other choice. He wanted there to be nowhere to go. Not for AL Mualim. A swift peak showed Altair still ensorcelled. He gripped his sword tighter in his hand. There was only one way out of the gardens. Three ways, if you were Altair or suicidal. The suicidal route was off the cliff side to your death. If you were Altair, then you could make the precarious climb up the wall to the second floor. AL Mualim still limped slightly, and would not make that climb. He was strong and agile still, but not enough for that. So his only way out was through the doors. Malik dared not get entrapped by the Piece of Eden, so he waited, heart twisting for Altair. He waited. If black robes appeared through this door, he would run the person through.

Until that time, he continued to listen and hate. Al Mualim's words were insidious, manipulative, demoralizing. Malik heard Altair's dejected tone in the question he asked, "What is to be done then?"

Al Mualim thought out loud, "You will not follow me, and I cannot compel you."

"And you refuse to give up this evil scheme," Altair shot back.

Al Mualim sighed, "Seems we are at an impasse."

Malik doubted it was really an impasse, Al Mualim would kill Altair. He sheathed his sword and drew his last throwing knife. He eased into view just barely to see if he could get a shot. He met golden eyes across the garden. But could not make a clean shot for AL Mualim. He almost regretted letting Altair see him.

"No! We are at an end!" Altair shouted back with fire once again. Malik regretted nothing after that.

"I will miss you Altair. You were my very best student." Al Mualim could not multitask the illusions and so, to fight Altair, he had to release him and let him fight back. Or was it that Al Mualim actually respected Altair enough to give him the fighting chance. At the first good hit on Al Mualim, it was as if Altair had hit himself. Al Mualim scoffed, "Blind, Altair. Blind is all you've ever been, all you'll ever be!" He vanished from sight to reappear in another part of the garden. Nope, as far as Malik was concerned, Al Mualim did not actually respect Altair, likely never did.

Running, hitting, falling back as if drained or hit, Altair chased the miraculous vanished Master. Over and over. _Patience. Pace yourself, my friend. Don't let him just wear you out._ Malik drew his sword in case the old man appeared in the doorway. He would meet a nasty surprise from a sword master. A spark and clang. The wrist blade broke and flew off through the door almost grazing Malik's face. Malik wondered if they fought that close to him. He inched around to see. P'TANG! Altair's last weapon, his sword, flew off over the rail and cliffs. He dodged. He got in a good kick. Al Mualim spun and vanished with yet another laugh.

Malik threw his sword spinning toward Altair the second the white knight caught a glimpse of the black bishop in the doorway. Altair caught the blade in mid-flight. He swung. The blade bit flesh and Al Mualim grunted and vanished again. Altair growled with renewed strength, with Malik's blade as if Malik gave him the strength he needed. "My blade sees for me, Al Mualim! And it cuts through the darkness!" It was a mock. Malik smiled wryly, proud of Altair and hopeful once again. _Novice, don't you dare lose my favourite sword over the cliff too._

"Curse you Altair!" He disappears one more time and appears again behind Altair.

An arc, a clash, and spin and tug. A pounce. Fog shrouded AL Mualim and Altair with a scream. The golden glow of the treasure fades a little as it rolls out of his grasp through the fog. His fingers stretch for it.

Malik crouched by the door. He could strangely almost count his own heartbeats as if time had slowed around him. His own vision clouded a little, but he could still see Altair straddling over Al Mualim, over his kill, as he had many others before. They seemed like statues. And through the odd stillness, Malik heard their continued words, the words of a great man and those of a dying soul. So rarely had Malik ever been caught in this. Maybe it was but the second time, even though he had read of it often enough in Altair's journals.

"Impossible," whispered Al Mualim. "The student does not defeat the teacher."

In the smooth yet accented Arabic that Altair had learned from Al Mualim, he spoke perhaps the first Arabic words he had learned, "La shai'a waqe'on mutlak bal kollon mumkin." (Nothing is True. Everything is Permitted.)

"So it seems," Al Mualim followed venomously, "Go then, claim your prize."

Malik knew it had nothing to do with winning or losing. It had nothing to do with this treasure that Altair honestly didn't care about. Malik wondered what Altair did care about. Certainly the innocent people of the Holy Land, but that was too faceless and vague to really move this great eagle.

Altair frowned. Malik knew, he could see the frown in the clenching of one of Altair's fists. Altair voice sounded pained, "You held fire in your hand, old man." Malik wondered if Altair referred to the Piece of Eden or himself. "It should have been destroyed." The treasure then, but that was still questionable from Malik's perspective and understanding of Altair.

"Destroy the only things capable of ending these crusades and bringing about true peace?" Al Mualim snarled, "Never."

With resolve, Altair stood, abandoning the body Al Mualim. "Then I will." Malik could do nothing but watch. Altair faltered and glanced back briefly.

Malik wondered what thoughts and feels ran through Altair mind as the fog faded. He heard one of his men fall to his death defending the front gates. The others secured them. Time sped back up to normal and Malik wondered how much time had actually passed, if any at all. He watched Altair approach the now unmoving metal ball.

Altair limped slowly toward the Piece of Eden as if listening to something, as if in pain, as if sure and fearful simultaneously.

* * *

A/N #2 – This was a challenge to write from Malik's viewpoint.


	217. Chapter 217: The End is the Beginning

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – short chapter… last of the game play…

* * *

Altair limped slowly toward the Piece of Eden as if listening to something, as if in pain, as if sure and fearful simultaneously. The air felt heavier. Altair paused in his steps, staring at the glowing ball. He had thought it such a silly thing months ago. Now the weight of its trouble dragged at him.

The haunting voice of a dead master seems to still whisper in the fog of his mind. How could he have thought he was really rid of his father figure and tormentor so easily? Altair wondered why the soul had not faded yet with the fog.

_I applied my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and folly. I perceived that this also was a chasing at the wind. For in much wisdom is much grief. And he that increaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow._

Altair wanted to tell the voice to shut the hell up. Al Mualim did not stop though in the conversation. Altair stood before the treasure. He tightened his hold Malik's sword.

_Do it! Destroy it! Destroy it as you said you would!_

He raised the sword to strike. "I… I can't." He lowered his sword.

_Yes, you can Altair. But you won't…_

The voice faded to nothing at last, but its truth lingered. Altair could not destroy it. Not for the reasons that Al Mualim gloated about even in death. What about all those people whose minds have been enslaved? Altair worried that maybe destroying it would leave them all mindless. No, Altair needed to learn how this thing worked so as to undo the evils it had caused.

He watched this … this… thing… on the floor. Malik had called him Master earlier… he… Altair. And the weight of new responsibility lay upon his shoulders. _But I am not a leader, Malik. You are. I am a disgrace… I am nothing… not even a hero… They have hated me so. How could I lead them? Why me? Why this thing?_

Even as the questions rolled in his mind and heart, he remembered that there were more treasures. Adha. She was a treasure. The sacred cup was Adha, a woman, not an object. _There must be more of these. The templars must know of them, for they hunt them as Al Mualim did. He and nine others learned of them. Them. How many are there? Where are they?_

As if it heard his thoughts, the Piece of Eden lit a beam of sunlight upwards to illuminate a large orb that spun on a slightly tilted axis. Designs of golden light traced shining lines over the strange floating orb with pin prick dots. Altair did not understand. Altair staggered just slightly, Malik's sword slipped from his numbing fingers.

Malik and two of his other men ran into the garden to see this magic. The two fighters backed away uncertainly from it. Malik caught his sword before it truly hit the ground. He stood next to Altair staring almost stunned at the vision before them. Altair whispered, "Maps?" Malik nodded beside him. A moment later it winked out.

Malik almost reached for the Treasure and stopped. He pulled a cloth from a belt pouch and dropped it over the orb. Altair watched him empty the contents of another pouch and then wrap the Piece of Eden in the cloth, dropping it into the pouch. Malik shoved it into Altair's hand, "Master, this is yours to unravel."

Altair's eyes strayed sideways to the two other men, Malik's men, now his men.

This hooded eyes fell upon the body of Al Mualim. He could not seem to move. He could hardly feel his own body, numb and cold and strange as it was. The pouch almost fell from his fingers as Malik's sword had, but Malik prevented that.

Malik was speaking to him, but he could not really hear the words. It was like listening through the walls. Something about the men taking care of things in the castle. Something about him being wounded. Malik tugged Altair into the castle and through the halls to the barracks. One of Altair's arms over Malik's shoulder, held firm in place by Malik's hand. He thought for a moment he was drowning. The air became stifling. His breath came in short gulps. "Altair… Altair… Don't worry. The men are taking care of things back there. Right now, I need to take care of you. Altair!" A sharp slap shook the hood back and shook Altair back to his fading awareness. They were in Altair's room, what used to be their shared room.

"Malik… I killed him. I… killed him." The room grew dark in his eyes. Even the sight of Malik faded from his vision. He felt cold and didn't understand why he was shivering.

"Yes my friend, you freed us all." Malik sadly touched his brow to Altair's briefly before easing his eagle into a bed.

* * *

A/N #2 – I could so end this right here…


	218. Chapter 218: No One But Malik May Enter

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – thanks for the patience and condolences.

* * *

"Malik… I killed him. I… killed him." The room grew dark in his eyes. Even the sight of Malik faded from his vision. He felt cold and didn't understand why he was shivering.

"Yes my friend, you freed us all." Malik sadly touched his brow to Altair's briefly before easing his eagle into a bed. Shock. That is what Malik could deduce from Altair's behaviour. Some physical shock from his wounds, but usually Altair weathered those well. No, this was deeper. This was more like mental or emotional shock. It would swiftly turn to physical shock and surely kill Altair if he did not act fast.

Sure that Altair was unconscious; he called in one of his men. The others he ordered to ready wounded in the hospital wing. He and his new assistant stripped Altair down. The assistant ran errands for Malik while Malik kept track of the eagle's vitals. Basins of water were brought in, almost a dozen of them, along with cleaning supplies and medical supplies from the hospital. The soiled clothing was shoved into a corner for now. There were no novices here with coherent minds to be at all helpful. Malik placed the wrapped Piece of Eden on a tiny writing desk in the room.

The man he had helping him was ordered to take rest rotations with the others, do what they can for basic healing in the hospital, and try to keep a watch on the mindless populous. They were ordered NOT to come into Altair's room. "Only I come into here, understand? It is dangerous." They nodded understanding of the order, though did not understand how a wounded Altair could be dangerous. Maybe it was the demonic ball that was there?

Once Altair was treated for his wounds and bundled against shock, Malik headed down to the hospital wing to continue being a doctor. One of his men reminded him of the prisoners in the dungeon and asked what to do about them. Feed them? Starve them? Execute them? "Feed them. Give them water. Keep it simple fare. The Grandmaster will decide their fate when he is healed." Back to work for Malik. He had wanted to be a doctor, not he remembered why he had chosen not to be. So many wounded and dying. Blood all over the floor and his robes. Some lives simply could not be saved. Hours upon hours of suturing and bandaging, Malik had to drag in one of his men and teach them the rudimentary skills of a surgeon. He supervised while he ate something. His assistant regretted seeing Malik eat in the middle of this near carnage and vomited. Malik threw him out and got back to work.

Tired, Malik ordered an extra bedroll and pillows and a sheet to be brought to Altair's room and left out in the hall. It had been far too many hours and he was in a ripe sour grumpy mood. He arrived to a change in the guard at Altair's door. The two men stilled. Malik knew something happened. His eyes washed over the hall, spotting to fresh chips in the stone from small blades. He pinned the new guard to the wall with his eyes seconds before he pinned the old one by the throat with his hand. His eyes flicked a second to the slightly bloody nick in the man's ear. "I told you NO ONE ENTERS! What part of NO ONE did you NOT understand?" Malik yelled.

"Dai, sir, he… he was thrashing. Yelling. We thought… I thought…"

"A man like Altair is DANGEROUS! He does not know you. He would kill you before thinking. He'd kill someone he knew before thinking in his state. I am used to dealing with him, YOU and NOT! I gave you an order! I expect you to obey it! You are lucking to be alive. I won't weep over you if you make the same mistake again." Malik released him and the old guard staggered away to leave the new one to quake in his place.

As Malik's angry eyes fell upon the new guard again, the younger man stammered out, "I got it. No one enters, no matter what we hear."

Malik nodded approval. He thought how Altair must have woken and tried to dress, had likely gotten hold of his armour and weapons. Malik braced himself, ready for a fight, as he inched the door open with a pillow in hand as a shield. Nothing. He inched in. A throwing knife sailed in his direction, wildly off course. He dodged, expecting it and rolled low out of the way. He managed to kick the door shut as he did.

Altair was half dressed, wounds bleeding from his moving, eyes a bit too wild. "Altair… stop," Malik controlled his voice, keeping it as low and calm as he could. "I'm here to help."

"M-malik?"

With a sigh of relief that Altair spoke his name, he stood and walked over. "Stay down, you are wounded. I'll treat you in a moment." He gathered all the weapons and carried them out of the room, dropping them in the hall well out of harm's way. Then he brought in the bedroll, pillows and blanket to lay out beside Altair's. He took the cold uneaten food from the little writing desk he had left earlier and encouraged Altair to eat while he checked the bandaging and replaced some. He knew tonight would be a rough night for Altair. The nightmares had already started.

Altair asked in a small voice, "Malik? Will you stay with me?"

Malik knew it was meant for tonight, but it felt like a deep and loaded question. Maybe somewhere inside, Malik wanted it to mean more. Tonight was enough for now. Altair needed safe and trustworthy company. "Yes." He answered the questions simply whether it meant just tonight or more. As he mentally acknowledged what he himself meant, he had to now accept that feeling. "Yes, Altair. I'll stay. Do you trust me?"

Altair nodded and he grunted his affirmative. Malik nestled down to sleep and offered his hand to Altair. Altair snatched it like a desperate drowning man. Malik held Altair's eyes for several minutes. "Try not to keep me up, novice."

Altair sucked his teeth in annoyance at Malik's tease, before closing his eyes. Malik smiled mostly to himself. He knew he would be woken often by the nightmares. He did manage at least a solid four hours of sleep before the first wave hit. They rode them out, talked about them, and eased back into sleep. The shockiness faded over the night, but there were bound to be further random issues over the coming months. Malik made note to dig through the medical books, the ones his brother had mentioned about psychoses and behaviour and trauma. He hoped to maybe even find his brother's own notes on the subjects.

Altair used to be cocky and charming before he had started doing solo missions for Al Mualim. Now, Malik knew Altair could hardly function with other people very well. The people needed a leader and a hero. Malik would never pass as one, despite his involvement. So he fully intended in coaching Altair into the position. He knew, if he could find some scrap of the old Altair, minus the asshole, Altair would do just fine. He'd need help, but Malik had already promised to be there for him with that first "Yes, I'll stay."

Two more days passed before Altair was well enough to venture out of the room. Over those days, Malik discussed the situation of the mindless people of Masyaf and they puzzled out how to undo the spell. Malik would stay to help get that started and to help sort a few basics out. He would even leave his four loyal guards. However, he did need to return to Jerusalem to finish someone's training, get the boy married, and arrange training for Tibah in medicine. Altair would be up to his eyeballs for months cleaning up the mess of Masyaf. Maybe even a year to restore things. Malik didn't tell Altair of all this just yet. He doubted Altair was ready to have Malik out of sight just yet.

First step was to sort through Al Mualim's things to find out what exactly had been done and what were the last ordered of affairs within the castle… and who was responsible for what. Well, maybe the first step was to get Altair comfortable with the four men that came with Malik and have them comfortable with Altair as the new grandmaster of the Order. It became the first, though less than formal, meeting at the old desk at the top of the stairs.

* * *

A/N #2 – I did promise not to end now we see the beginning of a trend. They are somewhat sleeping together, even if Malik tells everyone he is on watch as Altair's physician.


	219. Chapter 219: Altair Appointed

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Forgot about the one review per chapter number issue. Alas. Sorry folks.

* * *

Well, maybe the first step was to get Altair comfortable with the four men that came with Malik and have them comfortable with Altair as the new grandmaster of the Order. It became the first, though less than formal, meeting at the old desk at the top of the stairs.

Still healing, but able to move about, Altair followed Malik up the stairs to the huge desk. They violated every aspect of that desk and the nearest shelves together. That very act helped Altair feel at least a little vindicated. The desk was then stripped down as were the shelves. Altair would have to be the one to reclaim them in his own way. He stared at the vacant space.

"Malik… I am not sure…" Altair didn't get to finish as Malik let out a sharp whistle and the four men started coming up the stairs.

Altair shrank a little under his hood. Malik casually reached over and shoved the hood off Altair's head before greeting the four men. "This is Altair Ibn-la'Ahad. Grandmaster of our brotherhood by right of saving all our asses. You know of his fall and his rise back through the ranks. He has more than redeemed himself in the eyes of the order… and in mine. He knows injustice when he sees it, can make swift decisions, and understands the needs of the people. He is a master assassin second to none. He might be terrible with managing a group, but we will help him with that. His decisions are the final ones, may he listen to wise counsel and may he never hesitate to do what must be done."

Altair could not believe the speech Malik had just given. It swelled his heart to know this was how Malik felt. It also stirred the strangest feeling of panic with these four strangers staring wide-eyed like novices at him. The four men recited the Creed to him with a small bow. Altiar looked from them to Malik and back wondering what to say or do. He tried to recall the discussions of the past couple days.

"My…" Altair cleared his husky voice and started again. "It… Thank you for your support. Malik, I name as my second. You will take orders from him as if I myself gave them." _Back at you my friend! You said you would stay with me, I am ensuring it._

Malik took that in stride better than Altair had expected. The four men were immediately ordered to clear out Al Mualim's private room and find all personal journals, indications of use of the Piece of Eden or reference to any other treasures, lists of the state of affairs of the castle and the city of Masyaf, as well as the rosters of personnel. One guard would be responsible for the front doors. One guard would run the reports about the healing people in the hospital so Malik did not lose any lives that could be saved.

Altair was deeply relieved that Malik knew what to do. It must be the training for running a Bureau that helped Malik know how to run something this… big.

One guard asked again about the prisoners. "I will check them out personally." Altair wondered, wondered beyond hope about someone that was placed their some time ago, a year or more. Malik agreed that Altair would be best suited to that as he would be best suited to sorting and reading a plethora of documents. Altair knew that meant he needed to use his strange ability to see the shine or aura of people to determine the truth of their allegiance or condemnation. Besides, Altair wanted NOTHING to do with Al Mualim's private rooms or the map room. He could not bear to cross that threshold again, not yet, maybe never. The dungeons would feel far more comfortable and welcoming by comparison. As Altair made his way through the maze of deep underground passageways to the dungeon, he wished he could turn back time, a little, to when he used to enjoy being here, being with Malik. He wondered if he would again, if they would.

He heard water and recoiled. Comfort demanded he pull his hood back up, so he did, before peering over to see the place he almost himself drowned in when he and Malik were playing tag through this part of the castle. Malik had pulled him out then. Malik always was there to save him. Malik was now taking on a more public role though. Altair knew, it would make Malik a target of those who want to shake things. He knew Malik would eventually return to the novice at the Bureau. Altair hoped beyond hope that there was a suitable shadow, suitable spare left arm, still alive down here.

Some prisoners were down here to suffer for their crimes because they did not deserve the easy way out of death. Some were down here for training to learn how to survive hell in case they were every captured. Some, like one Altair searched for now, was down here like a dirty secret, kept alive only because someone smuggled her here in order to save her life. Altair wondered if his ex-wife had had the opportunity to become an assassin trained, if she would have turned out a different person. Altair scowled to himself. No, of course she wouldn't. She was a volatile viper. He hoped she was dead. But this woman… this one he hoped was alive. Altair had cut out her tongue himself when Kadar could not summon the courage to do so. Altair hoped that for Kadar, she would protect Malik.

Altair took a slow breath, partly to steady himself since he was tired from his wounds and the long walk here and partly to shift his vision so each life shimmered in various vibrant hues.

* * *

A/N #2 – New OC… someone else's that I thought was perfect for this point in the story.


	220. Chapter 220: Malik and the Secret Room

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – sorry for the delay. I was hit with the flu.

* * *

Altair took a slow breath, partly to steady himself since he was tired from his wounds and the long walk here and partly to shift his vision so each life shimmered in various vibrant hues.

Malik steeled himself to do for Altair what Altair would not do for himself. He walked into the side office and looked down upon the map table. His fingers touched over Jerusalem. When he closed his eyes, he could picture the broken writing in Altair's journals of the scenes in here. He exhaled loudly before ordering the room empties. The map desk was to be dismantled and re build in a room in the libraries. The furniture was to be removed… and burned. The books however, the books Malik wanted piled on the main desk at the top of the stairs. Any files from these rooms, he wanted to go through personally.

While Altair was off alone, sorting his thoughts in the dungeons, Malik skimmed through all the material. Nothing. NOTHING! Malik snarled and shoved all the books and papers to the floor in frustration. There was nothing in them on how the Piece of Eden was used on the people of Masyaf, and so no idea how to reverse this. No idea how Altair could reverse this. Malik grabbed a book and threw it. It sailed over the rail to bounce and tear till it hit the main floor.

Malik checked on the injured in the hospital wing to calm himself and to try to think more clearly. He scoured the private rooms again till they were unrecognizable. Then he frowned. Something was not quite right. Was the castle not symmetrical? He dashed down the stairs and out into the gardens wondering why he had never thought about this before in all the time he had been here training and serving. He skidded on the bloodstained marble where Al Mualim died and looked back up at the balcony. The huge desk was barely visible behind the window, but there was no door to it. There was a small door in the side room that served as Al Mualim's private quarters. Yet, from the past couple days of talking in quiet privacy with Altair, Altair had thoroughly checked those rooms. Despite his anxiety, he followed his mission. He found no trace of Al Mualim in them, yet the old Master appeared first on the balcony.

Malik narrowed his eyes and studied the structure of the building. Yes, it was symmetrical on the outside. There must be another set of rooms. But even from the view here, Malik could only see the one door to the known rooms. Hidden rooms them. That is where he would find Al Mualim's dark secrets and the skeletons in the closet. He marched back up the stairs and got to work looking for a way into those rooms. Little did he think he would find actual skeletons. Skeletons indeed lurked in many corners. Small ones and tall ones. The room contained the oddest collection of things, including foreign books. Malik recognized a Chinese alchemy book recalling that Altair had a mission to find an elixir of longevity. He narrowed his eyes and searched.

Finally he found some scraps that indicated the corruptions of the innocent people of Masyaf and the vile deeds recorded of Al Mualim's treachery. It divulged little of the secrets of the metal ball now entrusted to Altair beyond the simple already known things. Still, there was a list of strange treasures and the proofs of Al Mualim's dealings with the Saracens and the Templars. He found a record that matched Robert's accounting that fateful day ten men discovered the Piece of Eden. He also found the accounting of Al Mualim's first treacheries of taking over the Order. Then he found an accounting of how Al Mualim found Altair and several other children of "strange birth" with "strange eyes" who must be descendants of "those who came before," but there was no explanation. Altair had been chosen. The skeletons in this room were of those other who had been chosen, but who had not survived as Altair did.

Malik stepped out of the room startling one of his men. They nearly skewered each other for the startlement. , Malik ordered the items and papers and books also removed from these rooms to be stored for the time being in the tower above them. These rooms were to be scoured as the other ones were.

By late evening, Malik apologized for working his four men so hard. He also worried for he had not seen Altair all day and decided he would go find him when Altair lined several men in the hallway. Ragged and filthy, some bloodied recently, but all seemed well fed and in decent health. None seemed to have been under the spell that the rest of the town suffered.

"Altair? What is this?" Malik asked wondering if Altair figured out how to reverse the brainwashing effects.

* * *

A/N #2 – Altair may not seem like much of a leader, but he is… in his own way. He always knew Malik needed a novice of 3 to train and managed to provide them. And now he knows that the four men with Malik can't fix this castle or the town by themselves.


	221. Chapter 221: Altair's Novice

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – short… but oh so PACKED.

* * *

By late evening, Malik apologized for working his four men so hard. He also worried for he had not seen Altair all day and decided he would go find him when Altair lined several men in the hallway. Ragged and filthy, some bloodied recently, but all seemed well fed and in decent health. None seemed to have been under the spell that the rest of the town suffered.

"Altair? What is this?" Malik asked wondering if Altair figured out how to reverse the brainwashing effects.

The corner of Altair's mouth twitched into a smirk of pride, small as it was. "Many of the prisoners were unaffected, Malik. Many wrongly there or were novices and trainers going over prison routines and experiences." He nodded to one who stepped forward to identify himself and his apprentices along with the names of the other people there. "These two have had their tongues removed for crimes of… speaking back to the master."

Malis's eyebrows flew up and Altair knew the thought that must have gone through Malik's head. _Why hadn't Al Mualim cut out the tongue of the great flying eagle that oft vexed him? Oh right, because reading the reports would have been more of a pain in the ass than putting up with the cocky attitude._

"The rightfully imprisoned have been swiftly executed to no end the prolonged torment. I hope they can help." At Malik's silence, Altair grew uncomfortable, wondering what Malik was waiting for. A decision? Was Altair to give out the assignment? Altair was grateful for the hood hiding his anxiety.

When the silence grew too much, Malik finally saved Altair, "Thank you Grand Master. I will divide them accordingly."

As Malik approached a certain novice, Altair stepped forward. "This one… I have a plan for already." Malik nodded assuming Altair finally decided to claim a personal scribe. In a way, that was exactly what Altair did have in mind for starters. It was a shame the novice was mute. Altair could have used someone to read to him.

Although, Altair's initial plan was not scribe work, but a sparring partner that would not be able too much… yet. It was a way for Altair to work out the aches and strains from his injuries carefully. It was also a way for Altair to gauge how much this novice remembers, and how much this novice needed to learn. The hollow look in this novice's eyes echoed Altair's own pain and broken soul in a way.

In the privacy of the garden where they sparred, Altair broke the news. "Kadar is dead. I'm… sorry. There… there was nothing I could do. Will you serve his brother for me?"

The novice shook and almost dropped the sword. Lowering it to think, to absorb the loss of a friend and lover, the novice finally nodded.

"Thank you. You will be his shadow. You will be his blade. You will be the left arm he no longer has. You will allow him the freedom to act as dai without worrying for his life. He is my second and the dearest thing to me. I am trusting you with his life as you have trusted me with the life of your daughter. She is safe, by the way."

The novice's breath caught, then she nodded. They continued their sparring. The secrets between them remaining silent as their blade clashed.

The two tired easily and often. One for lack of activity rugged enough for this and badly out of practice for the year in prison. The other due to injuries. They were evenly matched… today. Altair glanced up to see Malik and a guard standing on the balcony watching. A young novice crouched there too as the guard gave a running commentary on the names of moves to the youth. Altair shook his head as a flash in his mind confused what he saw with the memory of Al Mualim standing there just days ago. He shuddered and turned his attention back to the sparring partner.

When they re-entered at sunset, Malik met them. "You should give your old novice room to your new apprentice, Master Altair? It is time to take your place upstairs anyways. I have found things you need to see."

Altair stiffened. Give up his room? Take Al Mualim's room? His hands fisted tightly. His jaw clenched. Whether he was distressed or angry, Altair wasn't sure. It was somewhere between the two.

"Go eat, novice," Altair finally managed to say. "Find me later when you are done." Altair could not yet even look at Malik.

* * *

A/N #2 – hunting for the pic… I have pic of this OC and as soon as I find them, I will let you know. For now, here are some pics recently done for previous chapters. One I found and one I tip my hat in honour and thanks to the artist who had done fan art for this fic.

http:/ l3onnie .deviantart .com /art/Wounded-193671942

http:/ sodesuka .deviantart .com /art/AltairMalik-Cuddle-196174418


	222. Chapter 222: Malik's Pain

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – This is to remind us that Malik isn't always the strong one. He is also a broken man even if he comes across is in control all the time, wise, and ready for anything. Have a box of tissues handy.

* * *

Altair stiffened. Give up his room? Take Al Mualim's room? His hands fisted tightly. His jaw clenched. Whether he was distressed or angry, Altair wasn't sure. It was somewhere between the two.

"Go eat, novice," Altair finally managed to say. "Find me later when you are done." Altair could not yet even look at Malik. The silence weighed uncomfortably between the two men till the novice was well out of sight and hearing. Only then did Altair break it. "Malik," he growled, "How… mine… never! Give up my room/ Sleep in…" He was clearly angry mixed with anxiety, not caught between the two. He started to turn away from Malik.

Malik caught hold of the harness at Altair's chest, "Let me expla…" Altair's fist flew fast as an eagle's strike. It clipped Malik in the face. He released the harness as he reeled and fell. By instinct he kicked out, sweeping Altair's feet out. The assassin fell back winded. "I said let me explain." He wiped at his bleeding lip.

Altair rolled to his feet. "No! You had no right. You have no right! No right to just offer away the last thing that is mine! You will not take that away from me too!" The words stung sharply as Malik realized his mistake. "And in THAT room? I will not sleep there. NO! Never! I … I can't! How dare you even think…" He snarled as he grabbed Malik and shoved him hard, nearly throwing him across the marble floor and bolted out the garden doors.

"Altair! Wait! Altair!" Malik scrambled to his feet and pursued. He skidded once again on the bloodstained marble in the garden and searched. The starlight and moonlight illuminated the white robed figure scaling the wall to the roof. Somewhere Malik could never go. He winced knowing that stitches were being pulled in the process. Then Altair was out of sight. "Altair! Altair, you swore you would never run from me again. You promised! Altair! You promised!" He stood there a long time hoping to see Altair reappear, but he didn't.

He waited longer as the temperature dropped with the night. Lowering his head, Malik trudged back inside and up the stairs to the Grandmaster's desk where he started the long process of righting the piles he had messed earlier. He fetched some paper and ink and writing tools to begin making his own notes and lists, anything to keep busy while he listened for if Altair returned.

Soft padding up the stairs caused Malik to raise his head hopefully from his work. It was not Altair, however. The novice Altair had claimed stood nervously beyond the desk, clearly having expected to find Altair there and not Malik. Malik studied the novice. "You are old for the low rank you have. Recruited late?" The novice nodded. "Sahar, is it not? You were once my brother's friend. I suppose some of that got you landed in prison." The novice shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. "Worry not, novice. No one here will imprison or kill a man for loving another." Malik sighed. Kadar had chosen a sweet young man by the looks of Sahar. "The Grandmaster Altair is not here at the moment. I doubt you will see him tonight. I seem to have crossed a line with him that I should not have. He is … … … he is rightfully angry with me."

Malik studied the novice before him remembering that this one had been muted. He had probably even been gelded. The crime would require that if it was not stoning. Then it would be one to three years in prison before permanent service as a slave. Malik could see how Altair would not allow that. Sahar seemed thin, but strong. Alert, yet wary. Skin was dark despite being in prison, well, darker than Malik. Sahar's eyes reminded Malik of Tibah, that molten coffee brown. The hair was a total mess of poorly cropped short blackness. At least the novice had the sense to bathe well and dress in a clean uniform after eating. Malik wondered if this was the secret about Kadar that Altair had been keeping.

"Tell me, Sahar. Can you read and write?"

She nodded with some uncertainty. Malik took it as a yes, but a poor yes. This was one of the problems with recruiting older people, they missed the basics of education.

"I suppose you were in prison when my brother died a year and several months ago. I guess you had hoped that you would see him again when you eventually got out?" He heard the novice swallow hard and knew this hurt. "Would you perhaps like his room? As a way to be close to his memory and to say your goodbye in your own way and time?" The nod was brief and sure. "Very well. You know where it is?" Another nod. "Good. Take some paper and writing supplies with you. I would like you to write out the Creed in every language you know along with an explanation of what it means. If you are to be pardoned and redeem yourself, then it starts with the Creed as it did for the Grandmaster. I will see you at dawn, here. Hopefully with Altair. Safety and peace, novice."

Sahar bowed and collected the supplies to do as she was bade. Malik watched her descend the stairs. He sighed again, this time with a heavier heart for this reminder of Kadar's life made the loss of his brother painful, especially seeing that pain fresh in the eyes of another. Malik pinched at his eyes. "Oh Kadar… Kadar…" His heart ached in the darkness as his candles slowly burned low. He thought he had recovered from this pain, but here it was once again along with his silent tears. The candle guttered out, leaving the only light that of the moon through the window.

Malik eventually stood and walked about the floor, simply needing to move and seek something to do to distract him from these thoughts. He turned in his pacing to walk back toward the desk. Altair leaned in the dark against the wall watching him from under his hood. Altair had returned! Malik's instant hug clearly caught Altai off guard as the assassin staggered, arms flung outward. As Malik's brow sand onto Altair shoulder and his own began to shake with emotion, Malik felt Altair's strong arms wrap around him for a change.

* * *

A/N #2 – Here are some pictures:

http:/ keiva-som-ko .deviantart .com /art/suprise-hug-178877309

http:/ novaluna .deviantart .com /art/AltairxMalik-151619784

And here are the pictures of Sahar who belongs to the artist. Thanks for the loan of your OC, I hope to keep her story true and exciting for you.

This is what Kadar fell in love with: http:/ anime-junkie16 .deviantart .com /art/Young-Sahar-155403603

The self-mutilation she did to pass as a boy in order to train with Kadar and stay with him:

http:/ anime-junkie16 .deviantart .com /art/Scars-and-Sacrifice-149394483

A close-up look at her in a scene that may yet make its way into this fic:

http:/ anime-junkie16 .deviantart .com /art/Go-Sweep-Out-the-Back-155336438


	223. Chapter 223: Altair's Kiss YAOI

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – And one thing… leads to another… Short but hot chapter. YAOI WARNING!

* * *

Altair had returned! Malik's instant hug clearly caught Altair off guard as the assassin staggered, arms flung outward. As Malik's brow sank onto Altair shoulder and his own began to shake with emotion, Malik felt Altair's strong arms wrap around him for a change.

See Malik like this, not the usual angry irritable controlling commanding know-it-all, but this… It was quite the awakening for Altair. _He has taken care of everyone, even me when I did not deserve it. Who takes care of him when he is in need?_ He held Malik close. "I did not run away, Malik. I was never far. I just needed a little space. I'm here now. I'm here now." They were but two more softly whispering shadows in the shadows of shelves and books.

Altair's hand rubbed Malik's back gently as the other cradled the back of Malik's head, not ready to release his only close friend. Malik held tight, too, as if he could mould himself there to Altair. "Malik, I'm not ready. Not for that room. Not at night. Can we… go somewhere else? Somewhere private?"

"I sent Sahar to my brother's old room."

Malik's words were almost muffled in Altair's shoulder, but they were understood. As Malik lifted his head from Altair's shoulder, Altair turned his own head just enough for their lips to meet. Their lips brushed each other briefly, too briefly. They both stilled, holding their breaths. Malik's brow furrowed at Altair's delicate advance. Altair felt Malik's hand grip the fabric of his robe tightly. He could feel his own heart starting to pound with nervousness. Malik had not pulled away. Malik did initiate the first kiss in the Bureau. Altair tilted his head a little and kissed again. It lingered in the dark, quiet and desperate. It deepened in the dark till they parted gasping for air.

The air cooled between them as Malik stepped back. Altair felt a little disappointed for the separation. Not that he wanted more, not that he was thought he would say no if Malik wanted more. He just wanted this to last longer. Malik turned away as if composed. The thickness in his voice belied that, "Come, there is a hidden room." Altair followed Malik into the hidden room on the left of the great desk. It was a bit musty, but mostly empty. Currently stored there were some extra pillows and blankets and a few books on a small table with a stool. Altair could see the evidence of Malik's meticulous cleaning in here already though.

The darkness swallowed when the secret panel closed behind them. Only a thin strip of starlight beamed across the floor from the narrow balcony window. They found each other easily in the dark, almost crashing together. The intensity of their need to connect rushing them to crush their lips against each other and engage in a passionate war for dominance with their tongues. Altair fell back against a wall. His fingers managing to finally unhook his blade harness at his chest. It clattered to the floor. Pounding hearts and heaving chests, Malik ended up bumping back into the small table spilling the books to the floor as Altair released his own belts, allowing the sword and pouches to crash to the floor. The metal ball resounding in an ignored clang when it hit the stones, despite wrapped in the leather. The war staggered Altair back this time to trip over a blanket. They fell together in a tangled heap of limbs and blankets and pillows, lips still locked in searing kisses.

Malik had the upper hand. Altair broke free of his lips to suck in air with a pained hiss through is teeth. It was a sharp reminder to them both that Altair was still wounded and in recovery. Malik backed off almost as if burned. "I'll be right back. I'm… I'll be back." Altair watched Malik almost flee the scene with burning cheeks. Altair slammed his fist back against the pillows a few times in frustration, cursing his wounds for breaking the mood.

He sat up after a few moments when he had fully caught his breath and composed his wits. Now everything that could ache and hurt did. He figured Malik was off to get medical supplies and prepare a scathing retort for Altair. He frowned almost hurt and confused. He wondered if he was being rejected. No, Malik was to fierce and wanted this. Altair heaved a long breath out before starting to assume to routine of removing his clothing so Malik could check all the bandages and stitches. Blood stained several places. All the places that stung and hurt at the moment. Malik was not yet back. Altair wondered if Malik had gone all the way to the hospital wing for supplies. The night air was freezing, so Altair wrapped himself in the blankets and piled them as best he could to insulate against the floor's cold stones.

He waited longer still and seriously wondered if maybe he crossed some invisible line and Malik would not come back. No, not possible. Malik kissed back. Malik's tongue had invaded desperately first. Hadn't it? Altair groaned and flopped back into the many pillows. He didn't know for sure. It happened so fast and so suddenly. He curled there wrapped in blankets and buried in pillows till sleep claimed him, alone in this hidden room.

* * *

A/N #2 – Well… that was fun!

http:/ ziaren .deviantart .com /art/ACI-One-more-kiss-154417374


	224. Chapter 224: Malik Discovers New Side

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – I learned a new word: Shounenai… and that is definitely this chapter.

* * *

He waited longer still and seriously wondered if maybe he crossed some invisible line and Malik would not come back. No, not possible. Malik kissed back. Malik's tongue had invaded desperately first. Hadn't it? Altair groaned and flopped back into the many pillows. He didn't know for sure. It happened so fast and so suddenly. He curled there wrapped in blankets and buried in pillows till sleep claimed him, alone in this hidden room.

Malik had fled the scene.

He remained outside the room, back pressed against the secret panel as he panted heavily trying to grasp at his scattering thoughts. Malik covered his mouth with his fingers as if to hold in his spirit, or absorb the shocking memory of those fierce kisses. This was not how he had wanted it. This was not what he had planned. It happened so fast that it made him nervous. How stupid could he be? What about the repercussions? What about Altair's wounds? What was he thinking? Malik's face burned again. He wasn't thinking, not at all. He had abandoned reason for a while and now had to yank it back into control again. Only once he was sure he was fully calmed and composed did he dare move. He didn't want to have to explain his state, he glanced down to the now lack of bulge in his pants with relief, to any patrol.

He walked carefully down the stairs making a list in his head of what he needed. Lists were helpful distractions. Mattress. Bandages. Anticeptic. Needle and thread. Basin of water. Cloths and towel. Some food, fruit or cheese? It took time to get everything upstairs. The patrolman helped with the mattress, but Malik refused his help any further. He wanted to try to keep that hidden room a secret. The fewer who knew of it the better. That would mean he would have to either keep that one guard, who helped him empty it, close to this place or silence him permanently. He had sworn him to secrecy already, but … no… trust starts here. He will impress upon the man the honour and responsibility of that knowledge, make staying a reward, fetch his family here with secure benefits.

Malik had almost managed to banish the thoughts of the kisses from his mind by then, till he thought about it. _Damn… DAMN! Oh Allah, I wanted that, still do._

Malik opened the panel and shoved with great effort till the mattress popped through and flopped to the floor. He stepped in and pulled it into a good place in the middle of the room. Altair had sat up to the noise, wariness in his eyes till he saw Malik and relaxed. "On the bed, Altair. You will be warmer." He watched the mostly naked assassin wrap the blankets around himself and walk to the bed to curl up already half asleep. Malik shook the rude thoughts from his mind. He had a duty, a responsibility, to heal Altair, not risk traumatizing him with his own sexual desires. Only then did his face heat up with the realization that he had never himself done anything with a man beyond touching and assisted masturbation.

Would Altair be traumatized? Honestly, Malik wasn't sure. He just wanted to do this right, do right by this man he loved. Part of him felt guilty for his own fears. He felt embarrassed by his virginity and silently cursed as he refocused at the tasks at hand.

He brought in the food and medical supplies, then snapped a foul verbal curse when the wide basin of water would not fit through the narrow opening of the panel door. Altair simply watched. Malik was sure he saw an expression of amusement, since Altair was not trying to help and just watching Malik fight. The urge to dump the basin of water over Altair's head once he could figure out how to get it through was very high. In the end he resigned to pouring some water out so he could tilt the basin a little. "Sometimes you are useless, novice." It drew a genuine smirk out of Altair. Malik sighed as he set down the basin. Seeing any form of mirth in his friend was worthy any annoyance at the moment. He wondered if he would ever hear Altair laugh again, or be subject to his friend's old pranks. He wondered if that Altair was also as gone as the cocky asshole. He hoped not. He liked that light-hearted side of Altair.

Altair sat stoic and still as always while Malik mended the injuries and rebandaged him. The chill air hurried Altair back into socks, pants, shirt, and hood. Always the hood. They shared some fruit and cheese before they huddled together under the blankets for the remainder of the cold night.

Atair still suffered the night terrors pretty badly, but mostly now for the strange room. Malik soothed him to sleep repeatedly. The predawn brighten the room. The sun would rise to eventually slam directly through that narrow window. Altair had been awake watching Malik. The staring was like being poked over and over. It disturbed Malik enough to wake him. "What is it, Altair? Are you alright?"

"Did last night really happen, Malik?"

Malik unconsciously licked his lips before answering simply, "Yes, yes it did. Do you regret that?" Malik could not believe the sudden knot that ripped into his gut with worry. There was no reason for it, yet it knotted anyways.

Altair did not answer which of course did not help that knot in the pit of Malik's stomach. The sun was just starting to wash the room in light. Altair's expression remained hidden under the hood. "Altair?" He reached up surprised that his hand shook a little as he slid it along Altiar's cheek, past his ear and through his hair till he pushed the hood off. Those golden eyes seemed to be boring into him with uncertainty. The sun brought a soft warn glow to Altair's feathery brown hair.

"Malik? Do you trust me?"

Malik saw the uncertainty in Altair eyes. Regret would come only if Malik could not trust. So Malik gave a short nod, "Yes, my friend, I trust you." He lowered his hand to his lap and closed his eyes in the old teen gesture they shared about trust. The knot turned into a flutter as he heard Altair move a little closer. Malik wanted to open his eyes to see what Altair was about to do.

Malik felt the soft leather of the fingerless gloves under his chin a second before Altair's fingers close gently there to hold him still. The fluttering in Malik's belly increased to almost distraction. He felt Altair's warm breath on his face. He convulsively licked his lips. Altair's lips very delicately touched Malik's for a kiss. They paused and kissed again, longer, slowly. Malik stayed very still despite his pounding heart. Altair's kisses were those of a very gently lover and it made Malik's heart suddenly ache. He had not really ever known this side of Altair.

Belatedly, Malik opened his eyes when he sensed some distance between them. He had to blink the watery feel that came to his eyes with no explanation. "Altair," he whispered.

"I trust you too, Malik," Altair whispered back.

Malik swallowed hard and blinked some more to clear his vision.

"But it is dawn, and we have lots to do, don't we."

Malik did not know what to say or do about this tender and responsible Altair. He wondered if this man was always hidden under all the attitude and if he had been given the chance way back when, if this is the man Malik might have had the pleasure of knowing. He cleared his throat, "yes, we have lots to do." He wished they didn't, but they did. Maybe later, maybe another night, they could pick up where this morning was leaving off.

* * *

A/N #2 – Here is a pic of that sweet sweet morning kiss that inspired this chapter.

http:/ zulai16 .deviantart .com /art/Kiss-AltMal-193811876


	225. Chapter 225: Altair's Wisdom

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – *snicker*

* * *

Malik cleared his throat, "yes, we have lots to do." He wished they didn't, but they did. Maybe later, maybe another night, they could pick up where this morning was leaving off.

They were at the grand desk discussing the findings and speculating on how to use the Piece of Eden to undo the brainwashing when Sahar showed up. Malik reviewed the Creed with her by perusing the languages she wrote and her written explanations. He criticized how few languages she knew.

Altair only half listened. His mind was still buzzing warmly from the tender kisses in the morning.

Malik assigned Sahar to help with the castle clean-up. Altair then gave his first decision, "And Sahar, you will train in the sword with Malik this afternoon. Malik will give you a note to show to the others. Those of you who have spent time in that dungeon, I want to see how well you all fair with a blade and let the best teacher in the Order instruct you."

Malik complied by writing the note for Sahar and sending her on her way. Then he turned on Altair, "What the hell are you doing, Altair?"

With a small smirk, Altair replied, "Being a leader. You need to spar sometimes as much as I do. And they need to know you are not a cripple." Altair wasn't sure if he angered Malik or not. He didn't understand the expression on his friend's face. However, Malik never spat back anything to show he was angry. Altair assumed that he made the right choice then.

After breakfast, they began the long slow process of undoing what Al Mualim had done. They started in the hospital wing. It took all morning to undo those in the hospital wing. Altair felt awkward commanding the release of people through this metal ball that glowed just a little as he held it for this task. Malik applied the bedside manners that Altair clearly lacked, but following in Altair's wake and counselling the patients. It seemed successful.

The true test of success would be to bring in someone from the village, or one of the brainwashed assassins. That is exactly what they did after lunch. One civilian and one assassin were brought to the grand desk. Altair felt more awkward here at this desk, holding the treasure aloft, than he did in the hospital wing. He prayed he did not seem like Al Mualim. Malik tugged Altair's hood back and gave him a nod of encouragement, then whispered the names of the men before Altair.

Altair felt oddly naked there as the guards brought the civilian and assassin closer to the desk that Altair stood in front of. Malik sat at the desk to take notes and compare to the notes he had taken from the sessions in the hospital wing. Altair glanced over his shoulder to Malik then back at the two blank expressions before him. He held the metal ball out in front of him in a firm grip and commanded each to look into the light, look upon the treasure. As they did, the Piece of Eden shimmered slightly as it had in the hospital. "I am the grandmaster, now. I am your master. And I release you from the previous master's control. I release you from Al Mualim's control. Your minds are free, your own."

When the two came to their senses, Altair stepped aside for Malik to take over and explain things. However, Malik would not let Altair escape. It was important for Altair to know how to handle the aftermath. He had to do this for hundreds of people still. If he was to maintain his role as grandmaster, he had to be ready to guide his people.

By mid-afternoon, several others had been released and updated of the situation. Altair and Malik took a break. "Altair?" asked Malik, "see if you can get that thing to show that picture in the air we saw when you first picked it up. I think it was a map."

Altair thought Malik was crazy because maps were flat, like the rest of the world. What had been seen was a turning globe. Blasphemy in most cultures to consider that a map. He tried to humour Malik. He tried to get it to open or show the pictures again. "Open… Light up… I command you, illuminate… Open sesame." Malik slapped his face into his palm. "What?" complained Altair. "It works in the stories."

"How did you make it open before?"

"I didn't." Altair thought a moment then skipped down the stairs and trotted out to the garden. Malik at his heels. Altai shook the metal ball in his hand and then dropped it. It hit the ground with a loud metal clang than make Malik cringe. Altair then poked the ball with his toe and sent it rolling along the marble to the corner. He crouches curiously and watched it roll with anticipation. The Piece of Eden rolled and bounced and stilled. Then it did… nothing.

Nothing.

"I can't believe you just did that," groaned Malik.

Altair shot him an annoyed look, "Well it was worth a try! You got any better ideas?" he was satisfied that Malik kept silent. He knew Malik had no better ideas. He picked up what he not nicknamed 'the stupid hunk of metal' and plopped it back into his pouch.

At least the sparring that afternoon went far better. Those who had been freed from both the prison and the brainwashing were both shocked and impressed to see Malik fight. Altair watched from the shadows under his hood. He knew Malik needed this. He was also proud of the man he could now call friend. His mind strayed to hoping they might have some private time together again.

When Altair stepped into the training ring of the courtyard, Malik yelled at him to get out. "I am NOT stitching you up a third time." That brought a chuckle from onlookers and novices. "Besides, I have nothing to teach you, grandmaster."

Altair backed to the gate then turned, "I beg to differ, Malik. There is always something to learn. I hope I never reach a point in my life when I think I have learned everything there is. Life, is a learning experience that never stops. I learn from everyone and everything all the time, for I will always be better and worse than someone in the world." It was a humbling lesson he had learned over the past year redeeming himself.

The silence of people deep in thought from his words became too much for Altair and he retreated as gracefully as he could back into the castle.

* * *

A/N #2 – To those wondering is Malik actually is a virgin. Yes, in an earlier chapter there is a flashback of Altair being in Malik. That was just once. And Malik has never actually been the other way around. He has never engaged with anyone else, male or female. So in many ways, he is a virgin. It is funny how in his relationship with Altair at the very beginning during their childhood and teen years, Malik was the one most educated in the ways of touching and exploring the body since he has ready so much (often forbidden or taboo). However, Altair is truly the one with far more experience. During his cocky time, he fucked all sorts of people for the experience, usually women. Then he met Adha and fell in love. Then she died and he got obliged to marry that bitch. Then there was Naheem. Not to mention all the experiences with Al Mualim, even if it was unwillingly. Malik has got to be going through a variety performance anxiety feelings and has to be feeling very weird knowing Altair has more sexual experience than he. Weird that Altair will become Malik's teacher. Bugs the crap out of Malik.


	226. Chapter 226: Malik: Touch It

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – baby steps…

* * *

The silence of people deep in thought from his words became too much for Altair and he retreated as gracefully as he could back into the castle.

This was a hard reminder to Malik of how much Altair had been through, more than any other member of the Brotherhood. He broke the silence with training commands. Lost himself for an hour the sweating swings of a blade. It felt incredibly good to just train as if he were still an assassin. He wondered how Altair knew how badly he needed this for his own sense of self to be seen as a master swordsman still, despite the loss of his arm, seen thus not by children, but by equals. There are some things Malik would never be able to do, but there was plenty he still could do.

Someone brought him food in the training ground and he asked where the Grandmaster had gone. Someone said they saw him on a roof of the castle. Another said they gave him food in his room. Malik finished eating and called for a bath to be brought and set up in Altair's room. He asked for medical supplies too, so he could do another check on Altair's wounds. It was a cover though. Malik knew Altair's wounds were doing fine. The average human would need care, but Altair didn't. It helped hide his own desire to simply bathe and talk alone with Altair. This kind of sneaking around was exactly why he needed to get Altair into the proper grandmaster rooms. Not tonight though. No, not tonight.

When the both and water came into Altair's room, Malik had to swiftly reassure Altair that it was not for him. Although Malik filled a basin from it and insisted that Altair show him the stitchings so he can check on the progress of his healing. Altair complied silently.

"I thought about what you said outside, Altair. It was impressive. For everyone." Malik cleaned a few spots and salved all the wounds. Physically, Altair would heal. Mentally and emotionally, Altair still had a long ways to go. "You will make a good leader for them one day. And that is entirely because of what you have been through. You know the worst. You understand. You know what we are supposed to be and can recognize when we have strayed from it."

"But, Malik, I don't know what to do."

Malik stripped down and sank blessedly into the bath. "Tell me, what have you been doing today? What does Masyaf and the order need right now?"

"Freedom. Their minds need to be free. They need stability. The people need to get back to what they do do support this city or it will fall from neglect and thus the next attack. The war will eventually find its way here and we need to be ready for that."

Malik smiled as he washed. "See? You know exactly what to do, Master Altair."

"I managed to free only twenty-three people today, Malik. Only twenty-three! There are hundreds out there and some will die just because I don't get to them."

"I know it will take time, Altair. Set those you free to taking care of those who are not yet free. I suspect it will take you a month to free everyone."

Altair groaned as he flopped on his bed. "And then probably another what… two or three months to rebuild the mess Al Mualim made of the city? He rendered it ripe for the taking. I can't allow that! And what about the Bureaus? And those in the cities? I don't know how to contact them in any way they will trust to reassure them of the changes."

Malik sunk under the water a moment to scrub his hair and rose again. A little shake cleared the water from his eyes and made Altair cringe from the splashed droplets. "One thing at a time, Altair. And this is exactly why you have a second. I am a dai and that comes with roles in the cities. As grandmaster, it makes you also a dai. I have much to teach you, but I agree, stabilizing the city and securing the foundation of the bureaus are priority. I will carry the message to them personally while you free the people."

Altair sat up suddenly, "You are leaving me?"

"I am running an errand and returning. Not leaving you, my friend. You… will be busy."

Malik stood up from the bath and reached for a towel. He could feel Altair's eyes on him and refrained from hiding his nudity. He stepped from the bath and towelled off. He noted how Altair watched the stump of his arm and remembered the time he had ordered Altair to touch it. He sat on the bed with Altair, covered only by the towel. "It doesn't hurt much now. Just sometimes. There is still strength in the muscles there. You may touch if you want. It's okay."

Malik sat very still waiting to see if Altair would actually accept this invitation. The candle light flickered in Altair's eyes as they searched over the shoulder and stump. Malik shifted the shoulder a little to show the movement of muscles.

"Why do you bandage it?" Altair asked.

"To remind myself not to hit the end stupidly. Also, to prevent chaffing. The scarring chafes and dries and scabs easily." Malik held out the jar of salve to Altair. "Rub this into it? And over the shoulder front and back for me please?" Altair might not be very good with bedside manners or healing, but his fingers were surprisingly gentle when they wanted to be. Malik sighed as the unreachable back of his shoulder was massaged of the aches and pains of working out today. He heard Altair swallow hard and almost thought, almost hoped, that Altair would do what he had done the last time and offer pleasure. Malik was ready to accept it this time.

But that never came. He turned to see Altair standing and dressing. "I'm going to try to free a few more before the night it out." Malik opened his mouth to say something, but Altair was already out the door.

* * *

A/N #2 – so close… so very close…


	227. Chapter 227: Altair Cuddle

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – baby steps… baby steps can bring joy too.

* * *

Malik turned to see Altair standing and dressing. "I'm going to try to free a few more before the night it out." Malik opened his mouth to say something, but Altair was already out the door.

He felt awkward and uncertain. This is what he wanted, wasn't it? Malik? Intimately trusting him? Yet, all he could remember was that one time months ago when he tried to please Malik and Malik was so angry. He didn't want to surprise Malik again. It also felt surreal to be like that in their old room together, like they were teens again. Also, the talk of responsibility made him feel guilty about wanting pleasure.

Altair roamed the castle a little while just to think. The other night was intense in that hidden room. It felt nothing like he had ever felt before. Fast heat, scrambling to the surface, desperately trying to connect with each other. Then Malik had bolted. Altair didn't think Malik left just because of the injuries, but it was a good excuse. He couldn't believe that Malik was scared though. Malik? Scared? No. Never. It was Malik who had introduced him to how to explore his body and take pleasure in it. Then he thought of that morning kissing. A smile crept into Altair's features and warmed in his chest. That was such a special, almost magical, moment. He wished he could capture it or repeat it.

He finished his walk by asking one of the patrollers to bring in a few civilians. He spent the next few hours freeing their minds and explaining to them what had happened. He sent them out to find their families and he freed those minds as well. Though, he let the first three explain to their families what happened. He bade them to please try to look after the other civilians till he could get to them, and to be careful of the armed brainwashed people who might attack them now that they are free.

It was midnight or thereabouts before Altair returned to his room. It was cool, but not cold. Malik was still there mostly naked with just the red blanket across his privates. It draped neatly over his ass while he lay curled on his side. Altair stood and watched, memorizing Malik's form with his eyes. Malik always slept so peacefully, even in the Bureau. Altair envied that. Whenever he could sleep close to Malik he found he slept better too. _You are in my bed this time._ The smile that snuck up on Altair yet again started to make his face sore. He had not smiled so much in so long. _And you give me such reasons, Malik._

He stripped himself down and donned thin sleeping pants. Then he stepped carefully over Malik so he could wedge himself between the wall and the sleeping dai. Malik rolled onto his back, arms flung up over his head, and slid closer to the warmth to his right, to Altair. Altair pulled a blanket over their legs then slowly snuggled close to Malik. He slid his arms about Malik's middle, rested his head down on Malik's chest, then moved his leg over one of Malik's. Malik murmured and lowered his arm around Altair's shoulders. Little by little Altair relaxed there.

Little by little Malik woke to realize Altair's closeness blanketing him. Their trust in one another had finally bridged the great chasm that Al Mualim forged between them. Altair felt Malik hug him briefly and he hugged back. He wished Malik were not leaving. He understood though. There was little for Malik to do here till Altair could free everyone's minds. And there were partly trained novices in Jerusalem. Naheem was being groomed to replace Malik. But that would take time. Altair didn't want to think about the Bureaus. There was enough to worry about right here in Masyaf.

There would be no worrying though tonight. As if Malik could sense Altair's growing anxiety, his fingers stroked through Altair's hair and down his bare back, soothing him, drawing him into comfortable sleep.

* * *

A/N #2 – Mmmm… picture perfect of sleeping Altair and Malik.

http:/ neilfangirl .deviantart .com /art/Sleeply-Malik-2-196332528


	228. Chapter 228: Malik Sees the Treasure

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – I guess by now you can figure out that there are some yaoi chapters. I am not going to bother labelling them as such anymore. Not even the shounenai ones.

* * *

There would be no worrying though tonight. As if Malik could sense Altair's growing anxiety, his fingers stroked through Altair's hair and down his bare back, soothing him, drawing him into comfortable sleep.

In the morning, Malik tensed and stretched his body. He grunted under the weight and realized Altair was there, almost like half a blanket. Altair had slept the first sound sleep in who knew how long. Malik felt relieved. He heard Altair mumble, "Malik, you are amazing." Malik felt the warmth of embarrassment spread across his body. His mind desperately wanted to know what he was amazing at in Altair's sleep fuzzy mind. He stayed still, letting his blush fade.

He dared not really move. He wanted to draw out this moment for as long as he possibly could. There was no anger, no distress, no hurry, no obligations. Just peace… safety and peace. He turned red all over again when a sleepy Altair turned and nuzzled and murmured, "I like how you smell."

_Don't you dare rut on my leg in this bed!_

He then wondered if it would be so bad actually, to please and be pleased. Was Altair ready for that? Was he? It so could have gone that way in their rushed fervent kissing. It might have gone that way with that gentle kissing yesterday morning. He closed his eyes and relaxed, simply caressing Altair's hair and back absentmindedly.

Altair nuzzled him again. He almost complained aloud as stubble scraped a little on his bare chest. But then warm soft lips pressed to Malik's ribs. They worked upward and over his right nipple and up his pectoral muscle.

"Mmm… Malik…" Altair's murmur added to the roiling through Malik's body.

His eyes flew open as he tried to smother is own, "unf… Altair…"

Altair's eyes flew open, suddenly awake at the sound of Malik's voice. Altair froze stiff in near panic.

The sudden tension yanked Malik back from the edge of arousal that Altair had started to coax him to. He took a slow steadying breath, then stroked Altair's back again, "It's alright, Altair. That was… nice. Better when you are shaved though, but please. Don't get up." He could still feel Altair shrink a little from him. "Altair. I am not Al Mualim. I am not going to punish you, nor make you do something you do not want to do."

"But what if you do not want this?"

Malik didn't want to have this kind of conversation now, having planned to maybe have it some other day. Apparently, the universe had other plans. "Altair, I… I have always wanted this. Always. And only with you. Last time you pleased me, I was not ready for the intimacy. It caught me off guard. You were not ready either. I didn't want you pleasing me because you thought you ought to."

"I don't. I please you because… because I want to."

"I see. Just please make sure I am part of the night's fantasy, next time. I prefer to be an active participant than wake to a mess in the bed I had no personal involvement in." Malik felt Altair's cheeks burn. He patted Altair's shoulder lightly. "So… you like how I smell?" Malik tossed into the growing embarrassed silence.

He was excited by the notion that Altair fantasized about him. He was amused that Altair liked his smell and was now the embarrassed one. Altair returned the favour by pushing his nose into Malik's ribs and sniffing loudly. Malik squirmed and warned him to stop. Malik threatened retaliation. When Altair did not stop, retaliation took the form of Malik tickling Altair into laughing tears. They wriggled and squirmed and laughed till they were all tangled in the blankets, then laughed some more. It was a good release of the building tension.

As usual, Malik had Altair pinned under him. The laughing faded as they just gazed at each other.

"It was good to hear you laugh, Altair, and see you smile." Malik wasn't sure why he was whispering. Maybe because they were so close together.

"It felt good. It felt good to have you laughing with me." Altair had whispered back as his hands moved up Malik's back to his neck and drew his face closer.

Malik wondered at what point Altair had gotten his hands free. He found himself leaning down till their lips met. It was slow and long at first, then desperate. They parted almost gasping for air. Malik saw such pleading in Altair's eyes, but for what? "Altair? What is it? What is wrong?" _Maybe this was a bad idea? Maybe this is too fast?_

"Don't leave me, Malik."

"I promised I wouldn't, long ago in this very room. I am not leaving you."

"But you are! You are leaving Masyaf, me…"

"That is not the same thing, Altair. We talked about this. You have much to do here. I will have much to do out there. We are working in tandem to reunite the Brotherhood. Besides, you have been on your own for several years, Altair-" Malik had more to say, but he was cut off.

"I don't want to be! I don't want to do this alone!" Altair sat up suddenly and hugged Malik to him desperately. "I don't want to do this alone."

Malik felt a bit awkward in Altair's lap, but ignored it for the panic he could feel in the man with him. He held him back and soothed him. "I'll stay one more day, Altair. And come back often. You will not do this alone. Once the Bureaus are secured with trained people, I will stay here all the time." He knew at some point it would be Altair leaving him. Altair would never be able to just stay in one place, but he didn't want to raise that now.

They rested their brows together. It seemed to have become a new gesture of friendship and growing trust between them. They had much to learn about themselves and each other on this new path. Together. Is that what they were? Malik wondered what their relationship actual was and where it was going. It took so long to get to this point.

Malik knew Altair had some insecurity buried behind his stoicism, but this was intense. Maybe because AL Mualim was no longer here. Maybe because there was no one to just tell Altair what to do anymore. That kind of freedom can be scary. Malik realized it was too much of a change for Altair perhaps. It reminded him that he really needed to find those books about healing the mind that Faruq had spoken of. Trauma manifested in strange ways, this clinging was one of them. He did not want to become the next Al Mualim in Altair's life telling him what to do. Yet, it would be so easy to become that. He knew exactly what to do and was so tempted to just lay it out for Altair.

Then it hit him. Altair was just like that silver and golden ball, that treasure. He was just like those other treasures, like Adha, a living treasure. He was retrieved and used. It was so tempting to just use him, so easy. Altair was a powerful man with incredible skills and abilities. Al Mualim had used him and abused his abilities just as he had with the Piece of Eden. That knowledge and realization was sobering for Malik and kept him in check. He had to be careful not to fall prey to that temptation.

_I need to love him as an equal and want to see him and us grow together, never order him about and never use him for what he can do. Decisions must be made together, he must be allowed to think for himself, or he will never do so._

"Altair, you are the grandmaster. You may decide what is best. If you think I should stay, then I will stay." It was a risk. He knew himself what the best course of action was, but he needed to let Altair come to that decision on his own or help him up when he falls from a bad decision. Also, he worried a little about leaving him alone. Knowing that Altair was himself like a treasure, what if someone else manipulated him? Who would protect Altair from that? And what about the man who drugged Altair and bade him kill Faruq? Who was that and is that person still here? Or was that Al Mualim? It couldn't be or in the trance journals Altair would have recognized him. Who would protect Altair from such a person again?

Malik needed to trust something and someone. He needed Altair to trust himself. "It is your decision, my friend."

* * *

A/N #2 – I blame a reader for the ideas in this chapter... *snicker*


	229. Chapter 229: Altair: Hard Dialogue

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – I see reading my fic has distracted people from their overdue homework. Writing it distracts me from mine.

* * *

Malik needed to trust something and someone. He needed Altair to trust himself. "It is your decision, my friend."

Altair felt so lost in this new world. It was as if he suddenly woke and all his dreams and nightmares came true in one swift breath. He was used to, comfortable with, understood people telling his what to do. Not the other way around. Now the decisions were his and he was afraid. As afraid as if he stood on the edge of a dock with the sea beyond, waiting to drown him with his first mistakes. In truth, he had been drowning for years and forgot how to breathe now that he had surfaced.

"What if I make the wrong decision, Malik? What if I make a mistake?"

Malik patted Altair's cheek. "Then you make a mistake and learn from it."

"You have always fixed my mistakes. You have always healed me from them. You always know what to do. Malik, you should be the grandmaster. You can fix… all this… and… me?"

Malik knew for certain now that Altair was far from healed and his next words had to be carefully chosen. The look in Altair's eyes were too similar to when he had slit his own wrists. One second there was laughing and the next there was blood. No, Malik could not let Altair fall again like that. "All your mistakes, Altair, are in the past. They cannot be fixed. It is the present that can be healed and corrected. So that the future is better. Better for us. Better for them," he nodded his head to gesture to the world outside, "and better for future generations."

"Like my son?"

"Like your son."

"Malik," Altair dug deep into his soul for the shreds of confidence he could not quite piece together. "I want to see my son."

"He is my secret. But alright. When the people here are free, I will take you to see him."

Altair rested his head on Malik's shoulder and hugged him tight, his anchor and lifeline. "I will make my decision about you leaving… later… tonight." Altair reluctantly released Malik, allowing him to stand and dress. Altair watched. "Malik? I don't know how the Order is supposed to be run. I don't remember the history or who is supposed to do what. Why did you announce me as grandmaster?" He stood too and dressed.

"Because you are a hero, you are strong and can do everything anyone would expect of a grandmaster. I cannot." Malik held up his hand as Altair started protesting that Malik was NOT a cripple. "I know! I know. But those who look upon me do not and will not. With help, with guidance, you will be fine. And when you feel you are not… pretend. We can work it out after."

Pretending is what Altair had gotten good at. He donned his assassin robes and pretended he was the perfect and most powerful assassin. He pretended that nothing could faze him. Well, nothing but Malik.

"Isn't there a roster somewhere? Master…. Uhm, Al Mualim must have kept a log of everyone. Of who was where and who did what. How else could he possibly keep track of the Order otherwise." Altair felt his suggestion was a good one.

Apparently Malik agreed, "Then I will look for it while you free more people." Malik paused at the door before leaving. "Altair, try perhaps to think of everyone here and many many Naheems. You have been a wonderful mentor for him and taught him a great many things so very well."

Altair stepped forward and slammed the door shut, forcing Malik to stay inside. "Have I? I thought I corrupted him." His words and expression were very sour.

"No," countered Malik. "You have done no such thing. You have done nothing I myself have not or would not have done in your place. Do you think I corrupted you?"

Altair hung his head, the hood shadowing his features. He felt Malik invade and push it back to look him in the face. "No Malik, Al Mualim corrupted me."

"And you redeemed yourself. All you did for Naheem was give him some very interesting experiences. I assure you, Naheem is quite taken with Miss Tibah." Malik reassured Altair.

Altair frowned, "You have an interesting way of dealing with that situation."

"And it has yet to be fully dealt with. Along with her… along with other things."

Again Altair frowned. "Are you keeping something from me?"

Malik's look hardened, "I will handle it."

"How am I supposed to trust you? How am I supposed to run this order as grandmaster if you keep things from me?" He didn't want Malik hiding things. That was how the Brotherhood started to fall apart to begin with. They were supposed to reunite the Brotherhood.

Malik raised a brow, "Do you have any secrets you keep from me?"

Altair opened his mouth and snapped it shut again.

"When you feel you can tell me, then I will tell you what I am doing. But if you want me to trust you with your secrets, then you must trust me what I say I will deal with something."

Altair sighed defeated. The secret he kept was not his own. "In my heart, I keep my promises, Malik. I will trust you." He placed his hand over Malik's when Malik touched his chest.

They left the room together to find early breakfast and crack down on the current members of the Order and the current necessary duties.

* * *

A/N #2 – the word of the day is… FRAGILE.


	230. Chapter 230: Malik's Novice Rafiq Naheem

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Oops, Naheem needed more exposure than I intended. He insisted that he have a mostly exclusive chapter and asks that I show Malik what he has been up to soon.

* * *

They left the room together to find early breakfast and crack down on the current members of the Order and the current necessary duties.

The day flowed smoothly for Altair and Malik. They both started in the hospital treating old and new patients and free the minds of new patients. Malik tried not to grumble about how much he hated being a doctor like this running from patient to patient and worrying about all of them. Altair sent out one of the freed men to find a couple doctors for him to free the minds of, so there would be help here in the hospital wing.

Malik was surprised by the arrival of one doctor while he was retreating one of the wounded. He hadn't thought Altair was being specific in his duty, but was ever so grateful to know Altair paid attention to the needs. _See, I know he can do this. When he stops worrying about the big situation, he can deal very well with the immediate needs. Dealing with the big picture will come._

Malik spent the rest of the day scouring every location he could for books and information, seeking the register of people and seeking out medical mind healing books. The healing books were for easier to find. When he discovered that some were written entirely in his brother Faruq's hand, he had to stop and just sit. _I have missed you so much, my brother. I hope your work will help me help him._ He packed the book into a bag and turned to find that novice assassin that Altair had claimed from the dungeon watching him from a discreet distance.

"Safety and peace, Sahar. Does Master Altair need me for something?" The novice shook his head. "Well then, are you here for training?" Again the novice shook his head. Malik frowned. "Did he assign you to follow me?"

That got a very uncomfortable look out of the novice who then dug out of a pouch a small paper and writing tool. He handed a note to Malik. _I have been assigned to assist you._

"Ah, well… Here, take these books up to… hmmm…" Malik wanted to say his room or his office, but he realized he didn't have either really. And sending them to Altair's made things a bit awkward. "Put them into the rooms of the grandmaster. I know they are totally empty. Just put them in a corner for now. I need to get Master Altair into them to decode how to set them up. I think we will both be sharing that space as I am his second." It was a fumbled lie and mix of truth. The novice took it as simple fact and left with the books.

He watched the novice leave before redevoting himself to the search for the registers. His mind drifted often to Naheem and Tibah, Kadar and Abby, even little Junayd. _Junayd could return here now and train with the assassins again._ Malik missed his notebook with the training ideas and recalled some of the tidbits. They would be stuff to discuss with Altair later. He smiled to himself at how Altair was very much a thinker of the now and Malik thought about the past and what he could learn from it as he pondered the future. Together, they might make a very good team for the order.

~~ oo OO oo ~~

Naheem understood now how Malik felt sitting there and just waiting. He had no clients yet for maps as most were not entirely comfortable with just the apprentice doing the job. The few scribe clients already had their commissioned works and were pleased. He juggled the busy morning of helping Tibah and her father set up the apothecary stall then dash off to the architect training. His leg had been bothering him a great deal with all the lifting and carrying and walking about. He had to resign himself back to his cane. Junayd was a relief, a fun relief. They stuck to their training routine of prayers and discussion for the first hour. The second hour focused on caring for assassin items (clothing and armour and weapons). The third hour was devoted to blade work, throwing knives and knifing. Junayd complimented Naheem greatly on the preparation of breakfast.

The hard part of the day hit in the afternoon. There was nothing to do. Nothing but wait for someone to show up. No one did. Nothing to do but wonder if Kadar made it and was alive or dead. Nothing but worry about Malik and Altair. Few informants came through and no assassins. He diligently and excitedly logged any information from informants.

Day six arrived after Kadar had left. Naheem limped out to the market. Unlike Malik, he didn't care if he carried a blade and had no qualms about hitting back when he was attacked. He'd walk about like he was a great rafiq. He didn't want to think dai because he really wasn't sure what that meant. There were too many things he had to learn. But he could run the very basics of the Bureau and keep it supplied. He dared not write back to Masyaf in case it was still not safe. That meant he had to restock with the funds earned through the cover work of mapping and scribing.

He returned with food and rolls of paper. Inside was an informant. "Oh! Safety and peace, brother. I apologize for not being here. We were out of food. If you give me a moment, I will prepare some fruit for us."

"Safety and peace, novice rafiq."

Naheem grinned swiftly to the new reference. Novice Rafiq. Yes, this is exactly what he wanted to be, a rafiq or maybe a dai once he learned more. He put away his purchases and brought out a plate with fruit. He didn't know this rafiq and so asked, "You are new to me, from where do you hail and what news have you?" He then paused as the memory hit him, this was the inspector dressed only as an informant. It was a long while ago, but no so long. He shoved some banana in his mouth to cover his surprise.

"I have traveled from Damascus, novice. I am on my way to Masyaf and felt I ought to stop in at each of the Bureaus to see what news I should bring there. Where is Dai Malik?"

"He is checking some of the safe houses to ensure they are ready in case we need to move. With this war heating up and getting closer, he felt it important to have a back-up plan." This was the lie that Naheem and Malik had practiced.

"I see. Very wise. There has been no news from Masyaf for some time. You are not worried?"

Naheem had to think on his feet. "No, of course not. Often there are long stretches of silence from Masyaf. But I suppose you would not understand that as an informant. The dai and rafiq's are trusted to keep to the Creed and maintain the Bureaus until messages do come. Also, we are responsible for local affairs. So we have the jurisdiction to assign smaller missions to informants and assassins. Are you not also an assassin, inspector?" Naheem felt proud for his quips and the startled look on the inspector's face, even if the inspector recovered quickly.

"I am."

"Good! Master Al Mualim had summoned all the regular assassins to Masyaf and there is a task that needs doing. Jerusalem informants have provided Master Malik and I with the information and I was to assign this mission to the first assassin available. That would now be you." He launched into a small mission that really any first or second rank assassin could handle. He offered all the information he could and the feather, and logged it in the giant log book before the inspector could protest.

The inspector huffed and snatched the feather, clearly insulted that he was being assigned something so beneath his master's rank. "Fine, but then I must be on my way to Acre and then Masyaf."

"I await your successful return." Naheem smiled sweetly, one cheek dimpling. As soon as the inspector was out of the Bureau, he pulled out his sketchbook to draw the man's various expressions before he forgot them. He wanted to show them to Malik. He wished he could tell Tibah, but secrecy was still necessary. She might know lots about him and the Bureau, but she didn't know everything and was not yet a member of the order.

This distraction kept him in a comfortable, pleasant and unbored mood for a couple days. When he went to visit Tibah's family merchant stall in the afternoon for something to ease the twinging pain in his leg, she had him sit with her at the stall. Her father would glance over now and then as he prepared the salve. Tibah laced her fingers with Naheem's left hand and fiddled a bit with his missing finger. He grinned shyly as she did. She smiled behind her veil and poked his dimple. At his blush she giggled. Her father was pleased. As he was growing to know Naheem, he found the teen responsible, protective, caring. The fact that the two were so in love made him happy for this arrangement, as happy as if it were to be Malik. He knew from Naheem's wound and the frequent request for a salve to ease his pain, that Naheem would never be an assassin.

The inspector returned to the Bureau a couple days later with his bloodied feather. Naheem recorded the successful mission, but wasn't sure what to do with the feather. The inspector groaned, "Wrap it in the papers by the feather box and insert it between the pages, novice."

Naheem was almost shaken to humbleness. "Th-thanks. I am still learning." The inspector had not been as annoying as usual and that is when Naheem noticed he was injured. "Please. This is a place of safety and peace. I see that you are injured."

The inspector seemed stunned. "I… I will manage."

"It is the duty of any rafiq or dai… and their novices… to provide for and to heal all who come through the Bureau." Naheem gestured to the carpets. "Please. I may not be a master at healing, but I know a little. Rest and let me tend your wounds?"

The inspector warily permitted Naheem to do so. Naheem hauled in a bath for the inspector. While the inspector bathed, Naheem prepared clean uniforms, armour, and weapons. He brought over the healing supplies and salved and bandaged the wounds. Naheem was eternally grateful that the wounds were not bad. "Do you not get healed at the other Bureaus?"

The inspector frowned, "The dai of Damascus does not heal people."

"Maybe he has not learned how? The old dai in Acre can. When you are there, be sure to have him look in on these wounds so they do not fester." Naheem's kindness had this inspector so baffled.

As the inspector prepared to leave, he offered some advice, "In the lid of the trunk, novice, is a book on the basic workings and regulations of the Bureau's. It will help you while dai Malik is away. Nowhere in them does it say that the dai or rafiqs are responsible for offering healing, but it should. Thank you. Safety and peace, novice rafiq."

"Safety and peace, brother," Naheem smiled pleasantly and felt he earned a degree of respect from someone who rarely gave it to anyone. Inwardly, he thought that this inspector might actually work privately or be allied more strongly to the dai of Damascus. Naheem's felt he just had a victory and might even have gained this man's allegiance, especially if the dai of Damascus is trying to found his own order and take over the Brotherhood. He logged that informant news in the big log book.

_How do I deal with that? Do I send word to Masyaf? Do I assign an informant or an assassin to confirm or deal with this rumour? When will Malik return? Is he alright? Will he come back? What if he does not? What if he was killed? Then what?_

He had no answers and had no idea where to find those answers. For now he dug out the book and started to research what he ought to be doing in Malik's absence. That gave him the idea to fill his time of boredom by reading books that Malik had on various shelves. Most were medical books in the back room and made no sense to him at all. He put those ones back. He found Malik's sketch book that had been tucked between the books. The art wasn't half bad. Some sketches were of various informants, random people, Altair and even Naheem, and some woman dressed in informant clothes then in assassin clothes. The scenery pictures were Malik's best works. Naheem slipped the book back into hiding, feeling like he just snooped something private.

Most of the other books were of a religious nature or bits of literature. He groaned at the several historical texts and figured he'd be obliged to study them at some point. He focused on the literature first, struggling through the more complicated Latin for the poetry of Cicero and those of Sappho, but fell upon Rumi where he devoured every word hungrily. It inspired him to make a small scroll as he thought of Tibah. He decorated the scroll with roses and debated giving it to her. The idea thrilled him.

_With the Beloved's water of life, no illness remains  
In the Beloved's rose garden of union, no thorn remains.  
They say there is a window from one heart to another  
How can there be a window where no wall remains?_

Yes, he decided that he would give this to her. As he opened the door to walk out with his new work for her, Kadar stood in the little courtyard, leaning hard on the wall and looking deeply troubled.

* * *

A/N #2 – maybe someone can do a beautiful picture of the scroll Naheem has made for Tibah?


	231. Chapter 231: Kadar Challenges Naheem

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – reality is hard.

* * *

As Naheem opened the door to walk out with his new work for her, Kadar stood in the little courtyard, leaning hard on the wall and looking deeply troubled.

Altair had always thought it would be Malik checking up on him and not the other way around. He hadn't seen Malik all day. The sun had set and Malik even missed dinner. Altair hunted the whole castle for him and found Sahar who lead him to Malik. Malik had been tearing through log books and records and census logs and the library of inspector notes. He leaned heavily on a wall, exhausted from a furious temper tantrum over Altair didn't know what.

"It is not here! None of it! Nothing! No logs or registers of people. And not even the stupidly in depth inspector record that I was subjected to. It should be here! He inspected me and all the informants for two days! I don't even know who he was! And there is no list of who he was or who…" Malik stopped. "Traitor," he whispered.

Altair managed to figure it out, "Someone took them. So we are compromised down to the very last member of the order?"

It was sobering for them both and solidified Altair's next decisions, as much as he didn't like them. It meant he had to redouble his efforts to free everyone's minds, get them into the fort walls for protection and fast, ideally within the month. The Templars likely had the list of names. It meant Malik MUST leave to the Bureaus and secure them and make sure all informants and their families were into safer places. It meant that that inspector was either a traitor or was working for one.

"That inspector and who he works for must be found and dealt with." Altair spoke with such sureness. He didn't want Malik to handle it the way Malik was handling Tibah's family, even if Altair agreed with Malik in that instance. Maybe Malik had gotten soft in a way. "You will have to leave in the morning, Malik. Get your informants out seeking information and this inspector's whereabouts. You know what he looks like?" Malik nodded. "Get a sketch and I will send people to you in Jerusalem to follow your leads."

"Unless the Templars have the list," Malik had to remind Altair of that. If the Templars had the list, it was too late.

"If they have the list, then I want to know for sure. If they do, I will deal with that myself." The dark undertone was clear. Altair would cause a bloodbath.

They just stared at each other trying not to feel like they have been defeated before they even started. "Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent. Protect them where you can and protect those who cannot protect themselves. Hide in plain sight. We are shadows; no one need know we are there. We are the silent heroes. We are the blade of justice, the hand of God where God cannot reach. Never compromise the Brotherhood. This is the Creed. It is not law for nothing is true and everything is permitted. It is a guide. We are responsible for our own actions. It is up to us to act as justly as we can, even though we do the horrible things that must be done, that no one else can or will do. We accept the moral black mark for the sake of others. That is what you have tried to teach me, is it not?" Altair held Malik's eyes as he spoke.

Malik placed a hand gently on Altair's chest, so very proud of the man before him, "Yes Altair, that is the Creed. Live as well as we can and be the sword of justice when necessary. I will seek out the answers we need so that we are sure of our target and so that you do not take the lives of anyone innocent again."

That proud look is what Altair had always hoped to see in Al Mualim's eyes, in Faruq's, in Malik's. He could live for just that look. He could do anything for that look. He saw Malik's eyes drift to someone behind him as Malik stepped back away from Altair. A glance over his shoulder and Altair saw Sahar. She nodded to Altair knowing her duty as promised.

Malik addressed her, "Take these logs and history texts to the grandmaster's room and see about some shelves, a small desk and some bedrolls. He and I have much to discuss before I leave. And try to find us some food too, Novice Sahar." She frowned a little and Malik corrected himself. "I suppose you are not wholly a novice, I apologize."

Sahar carried all the heavy books away in several trips while Altair and Malik stood on a balcony overlooking the city in the growing darkness.

"I do not want to go into those rooms, Malik."

"Altair, you must. It is your place and it is more secure than in among the smaller rooms. You will be guarding valuable information. Information that our lives will depend on."

Altair tensed his jaw and tightened his fingers over the rail. "I don't want to."

"The rooms are not as they were, Altair. I emptied them. Remake them, claim them. In that way you will wipe AL Mualim's actions from the space." Malik was trying so hard. Altair knew it must be done, knew he needed to be there as grandmaster.

"There are enough rooms in that suite for two." It came out almost as a question from Altair.

Malik rested his hand over Altair's. "And so I will share it with you. We will be working together a great deal. You know what I like. I trust you will arrange it well for me."

The hood turned a little and Altair pushed his hood back on his own for Malik, "I think I do." A smile almost touched the corners of Altair's mouth. "Should I line the walls with book shelves for you?"

Malik laughed knowing Altair was jesting. He sobered and encouraged Altair inside. "Let us go face those rooms together."

So many hard secrets were coming into light, faced bit by bit. Altair didn't have to face them alone.

~~ oo OO oo ~~

Kadar had ridden hard along the new route Malik had given him. His mind full of questions, full of worries. He never suspected Malik to be one of… them… an assassin. He had a few days for the reality to sink in. this man has saved Abby's life. It made so much sense now why Malik was so skilled in the oddest of things like map making, languages, medicine. He likely knew poisoning. Other things that rolled through his mind was about Naheem's involvement and where his sister would be then marrying into. He understood now his father's trepidations.

This thinking lead to other questions and wondering. What else was he to do all alone on a back route to Jerusalem? His father seemed to know so much. It was his father who sanctioned sending him on this journey. He owed it to Malik for saving Abby's life too. That journal… that vile work of the Templar… Kadar had read bits and pieces of it and gleaned the horror of what could become of the Holy land and its people. But was it right to trust the assassins? Were they not the killers and cruel people rumours told of them? Was Naheem going to be an assassin? What would happen to Tibah if that happened? Would she be protected or at greater risk? What did his father know? Why did his father know anything of them? Was Naheem actually injured or was that a lie? How many lies were there hiding how many hard secrets?

He decided he would get information out of Naheem when he got back. As much as he knew he owed these people, he wanted to be sure his sister would be safe.

Exhausted from the long ride, Kadar leaned heavily on the wall in the courtyard of the Bureau. He was just about to knock when the door opened and Naheem jumped in surprise. "You… you who is going to marry my little sister… you… and I… need to have a talk. Now."

Naheem gulped and stepped back inside allowing Kadar to enter. "Uh… uh… ok…."

Kadar slammed the door shut and ordered Naheem to lock it, which he did uneasily. Kadar sank onto the stool and watched Naheem limp on the cane back to the gate where he went through, and tugged the stool there forward so he can sit without the desk between them. "Is that a REAL injury? Or is that an assassin's covering lie?"

At this Naheem rolled his eyes. "It is real." He had this nagging feeling this conversation would one day happen, but expected it to be Tibah's father not brother.

"Prove it."

Naheem scowled. "Fine. Just don't call me a cripple and don't bloody treat me like one." He stood and dropped his pants, cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and anger."

Kadar looked long at the deep gash only just newly scarred and still sensitive in Naheem's thigh. He wondered how Naheem managed at all. He sighed. "I'm sorry."

Naheem pulled his pants back up. "I said not NOT treat me like a cripple. I get around fine and can fight well enough to hold my own if I have to and defend someone if I must."

"Your sword work just happens to be abysmal and you are terrible at riding." Kadar spoke with less contempt. Then followed up with a wary question. "So, now that I know who and what you are and who you are associated with, will I have to die?"

Naheem sat on the stool again. "No. Of course not. Otherwise Master Malik would have killed you when you met with him. You did… meet with him, didn't you?" His eager hope and worry permeated through despite his effort to remain as stoic as Altair.

"Yes, I got it to him. He tended my wounds and sent me back here via a safer route. Does my father know? Does Tibah?"

"Uh… I don't know. I think your father does." Naheem held up his hand to show the missing finger. Kadar gasped. "Assassin lose it when they are trained to use a hidden wrist blade."

"So you can use a hidden blade and not a sword?"

Naheem chewed the inside of his lower lip. "No…. uh… not yet. I know how to use a dagger and am very good with throwing knives." He hated how he sounded so naïve. "and I am learning hand to hand combat and how to handle myself despite my injury." He felt like he was defending his skills and trying to prove he could still protect Tibah.

"Greeeaaat," Kadar said as if he had zero confidence in Naheem at the moment. "I'm going to teach you how to use a short sword then. I want to make SURE you can protect Tibah. I am sure you have figured out by now that she is wilful and I sure as hell won't be able to convince her not to marry you."

Naheem opened his mouth in shock. "Kadar, no… please… you wouldn't. I mean…" Naheem hung his head. I will train with you."

"Do you love her?"

Naheem bit his lip again and shyly handed over the little decorated scroll. "I was on my way to give this too her. Do you… do you think she will like it?"

He opened the scroll and read it. "So? Do you love her?"

"Yes," Naheem fidgeted on his stool, blushing. "I do. Does she love me? Or is she only marrying me so she can study medicine with Master Malik?" It was the one burning question he had been too afraid to ask anyone.

It was the one question Kadar could not answer. "I'm sorry, I don't know." He honestly didn't know. Tibah was willful and when she set her mind to something, she made sure she got it one way or another. Not in any bad way, but she sure stressed her father and brother a great deal. "But I think you are well on the right track to winning her heart."

This was the most stressful and uncomfortable conversation Naheem had ever had with anyone, even Tibah's father! He was deeply relieved to have somehow passed whatever unspoken test Kadar subjected him to. He could see there were more questions in the young guard's eyes, but Kadar kept them to himself for now.

They walked together to the market where Kadar was hugged embarrassingly by his father. Naheem slunk in behind the stall and sat on a stool there to relieve the ache in his leg till Tibah noticed him. When she came over, he proffered his little scroll with the poem and artwork upon it. He watched her reading. A smile grew upon her face as she read. Then she hugged him and kissed his cheek. He blushed deeply.

* * *

A/N #2 – fathers and big brothers can be scary! Do any of you have stories of either what your father/brother did to your boyfriend, or what you experienced as the boyfriend?


	232. Chapter 232: Malik & Altair in the Room

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Trauma doesn't heal overnight just because the traumatizer is dead.

* * *

Malik laughed knowing Altair was jesting. He sobered and encouraged Altair inside. "Let us go face those rooms together."

So many hard secrets were coming into light, faced bit by bit. Altair didn't have to face them alone.

Sahar passed them both on the upper floor reserved for the grandmaster. Malik saw the younger nod to Altair who nodded back. He wondered what agreement they had, but chose not to question. If he questioned each of Altair's small decisions, it might undermine his confidence to make bigger ones.

Malik opened the heavy oak door to the right of the great desk, into the old rooms of Al Mualim. There in one corner was a short shelf with a desk against the wall of the main room. It was a small writing desk. The books and papers were piled haphazardly on both. Some cushions and a small low table sat in the center of the main room. Food filled the tray on the little table. A couple towels were folded in the bathing room when Malik checked. There were two smaller rooms off the main room. One had been Al Mualim's personal library (which had little of what Malik sought before) and the other was Al Mualim's bed chamber. At the moment, a bed roll lay flopped with some blankets in the middle of each room with a change of clothing neatly piled in a corner of each room. Sleep clothing also lay folded with each blanket on each bed roll. In the main room between the two bed room doors was a bag of medical supplies for Malik with a note.

_I tried to think of all the basics. I apologize for anything I may have missed. Womanly or servant duties are not my area of training. I anticipated that Grandmaster Altair will need his own wounds checked. I hope this is sufficient for what is needed._

Malik chuckled to himself, "Sahar is decent." He looked over at Altair who still had not entered any of the rooms. He stood in the doorway, breath coming short, every muscle tense. "Altair, there is just me, Malik. No one else is here." This was not going to be an easy transition. He could see that Altair was not ready. However, Malik had to leave tomorrow morning. There was no more time to coddle. "Get your ass in here Altair!"

The snarl that was so very Malik snapped Altair out of whatever vision he was trapped in. Malik watched Altair look at the room as if he had not been standing there for many minutes, as if seeing it for the first moment. The steps Altair took entering reminded Malik of the ones Altair used to take into the main room of the Bureau many months ago, wary… uncertain… expecting danger.

Malik debated the usual routine snarls to telling Altair to remove his clothing and wash so he can check his wounds. However, Malik did not think that was wise at the moment. It would give the wrong message. Malik sat instead and started to eat. He ate slowly watching Altair explore the room. He could see how Altair had trouble but tried to deal. It was not easy to watch. Altair flinched now and then, paused and looked at things that were not there. Then their eyes would meet for several minutes before Altair continued his exploration. Only after Altair had explored every inch, every room and every corner in this manner did he come to sit and eat.

Malik watched with concern as Altair occasionally shook his head trying to shake loose the whisperings of ghosts in his mind. "Tell me what is going on, Altair," whispered Malik.

Altair barely ate, mostly pecked at his food or pushed it around the plate. "It… it all happened here. In this room, Malik. I can still hear him, guiding, teaching… punishing. I hate that cane!" Altair flinched again then reigned everything in and went numb and stoic. "I'm… I'll be… fine."

Observing the struggle of emotions then the sudden burial of them, Malik came to understand how Altair went through it all. He realized how Altair coped. It wasn't really coping. It poisoned the mind and spirit till the soul cried out and broke. He needed to stop that pattern. He gripped Altair's hand hard. The assassin almost jumped out of his skin and feathers. "I can't do this!" Altair bolted from the room into the stairway.

Malik ran after him and hauled him back in. "You can! You will! You must!" He held Altair's arm firmly. "Look… it is not HIS room anymore. These are OUR shelves, OUR desk, OUR beds. I'll even burn my incense in here to make it more OURS. Altair… Alty," Malik used the short form of Altair's name that he hadn't used since they were teens. "Al Mualim is dead."

He coaxed him back to sit and eat. They talked about the findings so far. Well, Malik mostly talked. Listening, Altair occasionally interjected till things became more comfortable. They started to discuss the plans for the informants and who was on roster and who was new.

When Altair asked how come some people in the city were not on the roster, Malik explained, "Because I am a dai, not just a rafiq. Rafiq's are often scribes and may have a secondary skill to use while they maintain a Bureau. They keep the logs of activities, and help train novices seeking information. Often they are or were informants. Dai have more responsibility. Dai are often called Rafiq. The general public doesn't know the difference. They will call us rafiq, learned man. But a dai is responsible for the lives of those in their city. He is responsible for adjusting his cover and even his faith if necessary to fit the rulership of the city. He also seeks new members of the order and arranges local training till he is confident enough to send them to Masyaf. Often a dai will claim orphaned boys. I have sent a few to Masyaf before I knew there was trouble. Junayd is the first I kept in Jerusalem. Sometimes a dai selects men he feels he can trust with the secrets of the order and gives them some training before sending them for full training in Masyaf. The four guards who came with me are such men. Tibah's father might be such a man, though his has too much family at stake, so I am considering his son, Kadar. Kadar's life is complicated and will be less so if he becomes one of us. It will also allow Kadar to protect Tibah, his sister. The dai, you see has many roles. Spy, informant, rafiq, scholar, sometimes assassin, recruiter, teacher."

Altair listened. It was better than just reading about it.

"There is much more, but I am still grasping those nuances from the retired dai before me." Malik relaxed into his role of teacher to Altair. Seeing Altair relaxing eased Malik's concern.

After they ate, Malik fetched a basin of water and offered it to Altair with a cloth for washing, while he took a bath for himself. Altair insisted that the door to the little bathing room remain open so he could watch Malik and not feel alone in these rooms. Malik didn't mind. He watched Altair in turn from the bath tub till Altair was in his sleep pants and lounging on the pillows like he would in the Bureau. He laid a mental bet that Altair would remake these rooms to look a little like the ones in the Bureau.

If Altair had so much difficulty to get settled in this one room, Malik worried what the night would be like trying to sleep here. Maybe this was a mistake.

* * *

A/N #2 – What should I write next?


	233. Chapter 233: Altair in Torment

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Thanks to all those reading through the earlier chapters and finding translation bits for me to adjust. I have saved your reviews for when I go back and edit. And thanks to everyone who have put me or this story on watch.

* * *

If Altair had so much difficulty to get settled in this one room, Malik worried what the night would be like trying to sleep here. Maybe this was a mistake.

Altair had no words for how uncomfortable he was in these rooms, even if Malik had stripped them of how they used to look. Altair could still too easily imagine the old furnishing. He could hear the tap tap of the cane that indicated what he was to do or hit him in punishment. He could smell the wood, the fabrics, Al Mualim. The Master's words whispered now and then in his head. He tried so hard to pretend he was fine. But he wasn't.

These rooms held a significance to everyone else that Altair understood. The members of the order would defer to the man who kept these rooms. They were among the most secure in the castle and thus why they belonged to the grandmaster of the Order. Altair understood that he had to claim them, use them, and show he lived from them. He just could not stand being in them at the moment, especially alone.

Watching Malik bathe helped give a very different memory of that bathing room. He wondered if he could pain that room something garish so it never looked like he was used to seeing it ever again. He lounged on the pillows in his sleep pants after his own washing up and thought to himself how he would like to lay carpets in the room and fill it with huge plush pillows. Or maybe line it with book shelves and scrolls, inks and medical supplies, pots of incense and all thinks Malik. As an office space, it would be perfect for Malik while Altair held the main desk at the top of the stairs with its shelves for his own grandmaster office. Yes, that is what he decided he would do while Malik was out hunting news for him.

He glanced at the two bedroom. He had never really been in them ever, except recently when he hunted Al Mualim and tonight when he walked through them inspecting. He wanted the bedroom that had the balcony. It was Al Mualim's but he wanted to have that escape to the balcony for his own comfort. Maybe if he filled it with carpets and pillows and plants, he would feel like he was in the Bureau. Maybe he would specifically confiscate the Jerusalem pillows since that have a year's worth of infused smells that he had come to feel comfortable with. As for the other now bedroom, it could be Malik's. Although, he wanted Malik sleeping with him. He wouldn't enforce that though. Altair wasn't really sure where they stood on that issue.

Everything about him and Malik seemed muddled and confused. He wanted and was afraid. He was comfortable with and yes uncomfortable at the same time. And what did Malik actually want? It was all so new and now Malik would leave in the morning before they could really explore this new thing they were becoming.

Altair poked at a pillow while Malik dried off and dressed in sleeping pants. Malik brought over the medical supplies and asked Altair to rub salve into his arm and rebandage it for him. Altair wondered why Malik asked him this. Malik was perfectly capable of doing this himself. Was this going to be a new habit? Altair did as Malik asked finding he enjoyed being able to do something for Malik. He valued the trust Malik was giving him in this task. Malik returned the favour by checking all of Altair's wounds and removing some of the annoying stitches. Altair always did heal miraculously fast. He lay on his belly while Malik removed the stitches in his back. Absently, he poked and played with the Piece of Eden. He spun it like a toy top on the floor.

"Altair, would you please stop that? Put it away."

He put his hand over it. "Does it tempt you?"

Malik scoffed, "No. It just bothers me watching you toy with it with total disregard for its power and danger."

"It is not a scorpion I am poking with a stick."

"You should not have done that EITHER. That stung you, remember?"

"I survived." Playing with a deadly scorpion was Altair's first suicide attempt as a young teen, but he would never tell Malik that. It bothered Altair how he always survived but people died around him. _And for what? This… this stupid ball._ Altair sighed and stuffed the metal ball back into its pouch. He didn't understand it. He didn't understand why it did some things and why it now refused to do things it had done. He wanted to unlock its secrets and then destroy it.

The candle in the room started to flicker as it got low. "Altair? Why don't you set up the bed rolls and pillows and what not. I'm going to get us an oil lamp and that incense I promised. I'll be back shortly." Malik hesitated at the door debating for a moment about leaving Altair alone in the rooms, but better a few minutes now with some recovery with company than tomorrow without having a shorter experience of it. Malik left, closing the door over but not completely. Outside was dark and chilly at this late hour.

The crack of the door ajar offered no extra light in the main room. Altair stood to gather the bed rolls and cushions. He dragged them all into the room with the balcony access. When he returned to the main room the little candle guttered out. He froze then chastised himself. Malik would be back soon and this was no longer Al Mualim's room. He bumped the corner of the writing desk and recoiled. The memories invaded, swallowing his senses.

_You never listen, Altair!_

_On your knees and recite._

_A good assassin can take anything, endure and survive._

_If you please me well, we will move on._

_Change, Altair, and show me proper obedience._

_THIS is Jerusalem, Altair. I will teach you to never forget where t is on the map!_

_Relax and this will go easier._

_Bliss can be found in this._

_Learn to move with me, Altair._

_There is peace in unity._

He recoiled again from nothing and banged his back against the wall. He clamped his hand over his ear trying to shut out the whispers in his mind. He squeezed shut his eyes to shut out the imagined visions. They did not go in this darkness. A light clack sounded on the desk beside him. _The cane. I should obey or be struck._ "No!"

Malik had watched Altair as he entered the room and put the lamp down. He almost fumbled the incense pot, but managed to get it to the desk from where he tucked it under his severed arm. The bag of charcoal and incense he had been holding in his teeth, otherwise he would have spoken Altair's name to try to break this cycle he was spiraling into.

"No! No… no more!" Altair cringed against everything. At Malik's soft call of his name and gentle touch, he reacted violently striking and flailing.

Malik was ready. He blocked a couple times waiting for an opening, then body checked Altair into the wall. "Altair! Look at me!"

Wild amber eyes opened. They darted about the room beyond Malik taking in the differences. His chest heaved with each breath. His nose filled with the familiar smell of Malik. "Will I never be rid of him?"

"In time, in time, my friend." Malik backed away and set up the incense and lamp in the temporary bedroom. Altair followed closely as if Malik could chase away the nightmares. He trusted Malik to do that, he seemed to always succeed, at least in Altair's mind.

They stayed quiet for a couple hours just absorbing the sounds together. The sweet scent of the incense delicately permeated the night. Altair looked over at Malik often till Malik had fallen asleep. He watched for a little while longer trying to etch this memory in his mind to hold onto while Malik was off with the Bureaus.

* * *

A/N #2 – next chapter… departure.


	234. Chapter 234: Malik Wants

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Sorry for the delay. I was busy buying a retail store.

* * *

They stayed quiet for a couple hours just absorbing the sounds together. The sweet scent of the incense delicately permeated the night. Altair looked over at Malik often till Malik had fallen asleep. He watched for a little while longer trying to etch this memory in his mind to hold onto while Malik was off with the Bureaus.

Malik woke suddenly with pain in his right hand. Altair was having another nightmare. If Malik had a second hand, he would have hit Altair with it to wake the man so Altair could stop crushing his other fingers. "Altair… ALTAIR!"

The assassin sat bolt up with a gasp, already reaching for a dagger.

Malik wiggled life back into his fingers. "What did you dream, Brother?" He wanted to encourage Altair to talk to him when this happened. He wanted to keep building the trust that seemed to be growing between them.

"Fighting Al Mualim… and losing. All my other nine kills there watching. Robert…" Altair refused to finish the describing the picture in his mind. "Each had someone from the order that they were killing."

"Was Robert killing me?"

Altair nodded.

"Well, I am very much alive. And now that it is morning, very much awake and hungry. We have lots to do. You have lots to do." Malik hoped that by keeping Altair busy and thinking and doing, that it would be easier to move through the day. He hoped it would be easier to leave, too. He watched Altair scrub the sleep from his face and dared reach over to comb his fingers through Altair's feather soft hair.

Golden eyes blinked open to catch his own charcoal ones. Then they shied away. "No… look at me, Altair." Those eagle eyes returned the gaze again slowly. Malik knew this was their last morning together for a good while, maybe a month, maybe even three months. He leaned in suddenly and stole a kiss. The golden eyes widened like great big shields. Malik felt his heart starting to race. He wanted to talk this over with Altair. He wanted to take things slow. He wondered what the hell possessed him to abandon those plans.

His hand rested on Altair's chest as he claimed a second kiss. The skin warmed under his fingers. He decided maybe filling in a new memory for Altair would give him something to hold onto through the scary times. Something fresh might banish the old traumatic experiences. And then he realized how badly he wanted to engage for his own need, his own desire to fill a void.

When Altair pulled back, Malik knew he took too many steps, moved too fast. Or did he? The air took on a light musky scent. He could not deny the erection he had, nor miss the one Altair had. When was the last time they had played this together? When was the last time they pleased each other? Malik wondered if he remembered how. He knew Altair remembered.

The silent seconds stretched between them before Malik realized Altair had leaned in for a longer, slower kiss. Malik exerted mush self-control to be relatively still and allow Altair the choices, allow for exploration. He wondered how long he could hold out before this became too much to bear. Altair's lips pressed searing kisses down Malik's neck to his shoulder, to his collarbone, to a dark stiff nipple. Malik gasped having forgotten how sensitive that was. "Altair… You don't have to…"

"I want to."

Malik prodded, "why?" He knew Altair would have no answer. The quiet while Altair really thought about this calmed them both. He stroked through Altair's hair to make sure Altair knew he was not rejecting the assassin, just making him think. "Altair. I want this too. Really I do. But for the right reasons, because …" Malik took a deep breath knowing he was one day going to say this, but felt it needed saying now and not later. "Because I care too much about you. If we do this. If we take this further. I want to because we both care and not because we just want to feel something." It was totally not his thinking earlier when he was caught up and thought that changing the sensations would change the meanings. No, changing the meanings was the way to change the sensations.

Altair snuggled in close on Malik's bare shoulder. "I want that too," whispered Altair.

Malik smiled and hugged Altair to him. _I can stay a little longer, a couple more hours, just like this for him._

They lay their contentedly as the sun warmed the room. Malik could not help but mutter teasingly, "You are such a novice," at how they were being lazy and lounging through some of the early morning.

"Shhhh… Malik. I'm asleep."

Malik smirked and tried not to laugh at the fact that Altair joked back for the first time in a real long time.

* * *

A/N #2 – I was going to make this longer and do Malik's leaving… but it sounded so perfect to just leave off here with the fluff. Here are some inspiring pictures.

RedMorpho has some of the most amazing graphite sketches!

http:/ redmorpho .deviantart .com /art/AltxMal7-175094433

And this is the last scene of this chapter: by neilfangirl

http:/ neilfangirl .deviantart .com /art/Sleeply-Malik-2-196332528


	235. Chapter 235: Altair: Malik Leaves

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Busy writing two 20-page papers, running a new business, and preparing/planning a National Academic Conference. Sorry for delays. Don't worry, I will not give up on this fic. And for those just joining the fandom, please note that most glaring errors have already been mentioned by others along the way (specifically translation errors) and will be corrected sometime in the unknown future when I edit. Thanks!

* * *

"Shhhh… Malik. I'm asleep."

Malik smirked and tried not to laugh at the fact that Altair joked back for the first time in a real long time.

The morning seemed slow, there was so much to do and yet so little seemed to progress. Malik checked for the last time on those in the hospital wing and the few poorly trained assistants there. Altair was doing his best to free more minds. By mid-afternoon, Malik could linger no longer. If he didn't go now, he might not. Altair tried desperately not to think about Malik leaving.

Altair had finished freeing the minds of a couple assassins. Malik passed the somewhat confused men on the stairs to the large desk. Altair was walking off his discomfort and distress. He strode with clenched fists. Malik followed as the great eagle passed a book shelf. "The books will not absorb your frustration, brother."

Altair turned and growled, "They seemed to serve you well when you threw them."

"Not your style, Altair."

"No… but I can't exactly do what I want to." Altair stared back at Malik almost darkly. "You are going." It was not a request, not a question, not a command, just a state of fact.

"May I? You were supposed to give me a decision." Malik expected the yelling that followed.

Altair gestured wildly, "I know you have to go! You know you have to go! Why would I stop you? You told me you must! So you must! I… I don't want you to go, but I don't really have a choice if it is for the Order!" Altair growled again and turned his back with a snarl, "Go on! Get out!" He ground his teeth with the hurt he felt in his chest.

Malik had never been thrown out before. It almost sounded like his own words so long ago when he yelled at Altair to get out. Words yelled in anger and anguish, fear and worry and hurt. Malik understood the emotion too well and did not wish their parting to be like this.

He stepped forward and tugged Altair's harness. Altair whipped around. Before Altair could react further, Malik grabbed the front harness plate and shoved Altair back into the books, pressing his lips ferociously to Altair's. He pulled away before either really recovered from the impulsive act. Altair licked his lips. Then Malik turned on his heel and walked away.

"Malik!" called Altair, a hand outstretched.

Malik paused at the top of the stairs, charcoal eyes lingering on amber ones. "I'll keep in touch, Grandmaster."

"How?"

"Find the man in charge of the aviary here. Free him. He will bring my messages to you." Malik knew that would be the best and swiftest way. He resolved to leave and not look back. Altair needed to know he was trusted with this new mission.

Closing this book temporarily, caused his thoughts to pick at the book he had left behind, Naheem. Malik would ride alone to Jerusalem, like any other assassin on mission. He missed the idea of riding with a partner and doing missions with a partner. Most of the Order ran solo now. Both worked out well. Perhaps it would have to be on a case by case basis. Some people would work best as partners and other best solo. Although, as Malik continued thinking on his way through the city of Masyaf, mentoring novices did make them temporary partners. Thoughts he wanted to enter into his log book of training ideas.

Once Malik was out of the castle proper, Altair summoned Sahar. The novice gave a short bow, since she could not speak the proper greeting.

"Malik is leaving. Are you ready? Be his left arm. But… try to stay out of his way. He is an irritable bastard and will not welcome you. Don't take it personally. He will give his life if he has to in order to save yours. I expect the same from you… for Kadar." Altair had already planned with Sahar for this day and he prayed Malik would not need her, but in case Malik did, she would be there. The road is dangerous alone. The cities are dangerous if you are pretending to be a cripple and a non-fighter. _Shadow him. Protect him. I need him safe._

This time Altair understood how Malik must feel sending off assassins on missions. He did not like this nauseous feeling. It was fine risking his own life, but being responsible like this for someone else?

Sahar shouldered her travel pack and took the fastest way she could to the horses, to beat Malik there. Malik would take the roads through the city. She was not bound by that route. This was good practice for her after having been imprisoned for so long. It saved her life, but she missed so much, and got greatly out of practice. She wondered if she could manage to be sneaky enough to surprise Malik yet discreet enough to not upset him.

The first challenge Malik face on his way out to Jerusalem was so small and yet so large that he cursed profusely and spooked the horse he was trying to mount. It danced sideways skittishly and stamped its hoof, as did another near it when Malik cursed. One arm created such difficulty, he could not get mounted. On his way here, he had help with his men. Solo…

Sahar silently manifested in the corner of his vision with hands locked together to help Malik into the saddle. Malik sighed heavily with a mix of embarrassment and relief. "I suppose he sent you to follow me?"

The slight mute nod confirmed his suspicion.

No one saw the even more silent eagle peeking through a crack in fence boards to make sure the encounter went well and to watch with amber eyes, the last moments of his friend that Altair would likely see for a long while.

Malik wanted to be furious, but this one moment of inability held his tongue behind his teeth. "Then get your things, novice. I wait for no man!" He kicked the horse into a light run.

Sahar was quick to be a-horse and at Malik's heels, a silent shadow.


	236. Chapter 236: Malik: Close Encounter

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – I could not resist. Here is a short chappy for you all. One of demons and angels.

* * *

Sahar had been ready for a couple days and was quick to be a-horse and at Malik's heels, a silent shadow. She still could hardly believe that Kadar was just… gone. It was a risk in this line of work. She understood the risks. She accepted them. She took great and drastic measures to be sure she could deceptively remain among their ranks in order to be close to the young man she loved and had born a child to. Now he was gone. Malik's dour demeanour and missing left arm glared at her with the truth of Kadar's death. These brothers were inseparable otherwise.

She rode at a good distance as per Altair's advice. She stayed out of Malik's way and did as she was bade. Malik thought she was a man, Kadar's former lover. It made her wonder, as they rode, if Malik was a man-lover and did not have any interest in women after all. Just as well. She had nothing to offer. She had taken a blade to her own breasts and left her chest a scarred mess. She hardly had a feminine figure at all with training and then with imprisonment.

Imprisonment. It was only supposed to be for a few months till the suspicion of what she was blew over. But the months dragged into a whole year, then dragged on some more. She came back to the world to find it changed. Al Mualim had been a traitor. Kadar was dead. Malik was now a dai, crippled with the loss of his left arm. She chastised her thoughts remembering that Altair told her never to think of Malik as crippled.

She vowed, for Kadar's sake, to do her best to protect and care for the older brother till the end of her days.

Malik treated her like a novice and often called her that when he noticed her existence. She was a rank three assassin, but badly out of practice. She supposed because of that she lost her ranks and would have to work her way up. She had a knife and short sword, her wrist blade that she had earned shortly before she was imprisoned, and five throwing knives.

The nights were her favourite times. She slept under stars. Such freedom was like flying. She sometimes dreamed she had wings and flew with an angel Kadar at her side. _One day, my love, we will fly like eagles together._

Malik's nights were a jumble of worry and concern. He didn't want to have to worry about a novice following him. Even though he tried to ignore this shadowy presence that Altair enforced, he still made different decisions to keep them both safe along their route to Jerusalem. Nights brought strange dreams, even nightmares. His dreams were filled with Al Mualim doing horrible things to a young Altair, to a ghost Al Mualim killing Altair, to Altair being mobbed by the brainwashed in Malik's absence, to Altair being sucked into the power of the strange treasure till it slowly destroyed his mind and body. Such demonic thoughts plagues each night for the first three.

Malik tossed and turned and sweated. A cool hand touched his brow. A light breeze and sound of wings filled his ears. "Safety… and peace… the eagle is protected. And so are you." The voice was soft and deep. Peace washed through Malik and he breathed easier. His eyes opened to see who spoke so soothingly.

Kneeling beside Novice Sahar was a man. A winged man. From demons to angels. Malik swallowed, prays to Allah sliding into his thoughts. One wing glistened black as the night sky. The other wing shone white in the moonlight. The man soothed Sahar as he had soothed Malik. Malik sought his voice but it evaded him. This was the man, creature, being that he had glimpsed and denied several times over the year. This was the being Tibah had claimed spoke in her dreams now and then. A messenger of Allah. Real.

The wings spread and stretch then folded close to the body as the man turned to notice Malik staring, mouth agape.

"Close your mouth, King of Swords. Then close your eyes. This is but a dream."

Malik snapped his mouth shut but refused to close his eyes.

The angel approached and put a hand over Malik's eyes. "Go to sleep. You are safe."

When Malik opened his eyes again, it was morning and the sun stung his vision.


	237. Chapter 237: Maria Thorpe No More

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – You all wondered. So here is… Maria. Sorry that work and school have me bogged down. I will keep writing. Please keep reading.

* * *

When Malik opened his eyes again, it was morning and the sun stung his vision. Altair scrubbed his eyes in the morning sun as he stood on the balcony overlooking the castle's gardens. His thoughts drifted to Malik over and over, wondering if Malik was safe. He had ensured help by sending Sahar, so he should not worry. Malik was also very capable and the best swordsman Altair knew. Another reason not to worry. Besides, wasn't it Malik who always took care of Altair? Yet another reason not to worry. Altair returned to his task of undoing what Al Mualim had done, a few people at a time. Al Mualim must have done it in much larger groups, but Altair did not think he could handle that well. He wanted to be thorough. He wanted to prove to himself that he could do something right, something good. He wanted Malik to be proud of him.

In another tent far from both Jerusalem and Masyaf, another warrior knelt before a king, wanting desperately to scrub both the sand and sleep from her eyes. King Richard paced back and forth listening to the various reports of his men about the fiasco in Jerusalem that Robert had devised for the capture of Altair. The King kept his thoughts to himself. The kneeling Templar waited painfully, anxiety gnawing inside her as badly as her wounds gnaws on the surface below her armour.

King Richard then dismissed everyone but his personal aid and the Templar. He paced further trying to decide how he wanted to proceed from here. Before him was Robert's second in the Holy Lands. Was this Templar as corrupt as Robert? Was the quiet rumour he heard possibly true that Robert trained a woman as a Templar? If so, what would he do with this woman and who was she? He stopped his pacing and sat on a cushioned bench facing the kneeling Templar. "So, you are Robert de Sable's second in these parts." It was not a question. He knew the fact. The helm bobbed once to confirm it. "And he sent you in his place to Jerusalem to take out this assassin, Altair." The helm bobbed once again. "And you failed." The Templar stiffened from head to toe. "Yet… you lived. Assassins do not let their prey go. Tell me, why. Was it because you were a woman? Did he have such honour? Report. But before you do, remove your helm and report properly to a king whose hands hold your very life."

Stiffly, as her wounds were many, though not fatal, Maria removed her helm. She placed it on the ground before her with her blade. Her deception now revealed to both the king and his personal aid. The eyebrows of the blond aid flew high as he made a surprised noise. The king made no such expressions. Maria now knew he had suspected this betrayal of her station. "I am…"

"Maria Thorpe." The King finally recognized her. She had been part of the court in England. She ranked high among the nobility. When her cousin left for the Crusades, she had vanished. She had abandoned her duty as woman, as nobility with responsibility to family, land and country. She had abandoned her forced duty as wife to a man she did not ever want to marry (in a desperate attempt to curb her boyish behaviour). "Go on. I know who you are."

She swallowed. "I trained under my cousin for the past few years and only under Robert this past year. He made me his personal steward. It was an honour to try to stop the evil efforts of the devils we know as the Assassins. I learned to watch and fight in their style and to blend it in with our own. They are fast, agile, with little need for armour. Armour makes us slow, but harder to kill. Robert helped me find lighter armour and then to match all the colourings to his own for this critical mission. My cover as a woman in the ranks was blown and my cousin already dead. I asked for this mission believing it would be my final battle, one of honour and glory. Yes, I failed. I failed because Robert was… wrong."

"That is good to hear from you. You may speak openly. I too agree he was wrong and has nearly undermined all my efforts here in the Holy Land for his own… designs. And I have met this assassin, Altair. Tell me more. And I will tell you of your cousin, who yet lives."

Maria gasped in hope and surprise. She schooled her expression and emotions swiftly and continued her report. She betrayed all of Robert's secrets to the King. Robert was dead, what would he care? She also disagreed with them a great deal as she came to see his designs, but no longer trusted her chances and so chose to die on her own terms. She described the plan for the trap in Jerusalem. She described bizarreness of the assassin's fight, how he would run away, then pick off her men a few at a time tactfully. She described how he lured her men into places to fight that prevented harm to civilians. How he would even force a clear path through a crowd to ensure their safety. How he fought within a group that clearly out matched and outnumbered him. How incredible he was to watch fight. How incredible it was to fight him and feel the impossible power behind his convictions. "He was truly impressive."

"Indeed he was. I watched him battle and defeat thirty of my best and twenty of Robert's Templars, including Robert. He seemed rash, unpredictable, yet his blows were precise. His determination unerring, despite his wounds. He left your fight wounded to engage in this one before me. Tell me. How is it that you lived?" asked the king.

Here Maria faltered. She muttered the word sorcery under her breath. "I had believed up until that moment that Robert was just in his cause. The assassin… Altair… defeated me. My death was imminent. The cold grasp and chill of death shrouded us like… fog. He stood over me like the Arch Angel Michael, ready to judge and end me, ready to send me to God. I was sure I was in that place before death. He removed my helm to be shocked. He declared that I was the committer of sorcery. We threw ill words at one another as I defended Robert. But even as the words fell unbidden from my mouth, I began to doubt them. God was watching from there, very closely. God knew my heart. God knew Robert was wrong and when this agent of God released me, I knew it too. Assassin. Is that really what they are? Each man he killed did so many terribly things to the people and to your own efforts. Each man was a sinner against God in the vilest of ways even according to the Muslim beliefs. I thought… but I must be wrong… that he or his kind might…"

"Actually be honourable men striving for the freedom of a people and a land from all who might crush it under their boot?"

She met the king's eyes briefly before dropping her eyes respectfully to the floor again. "Yes. He released me, not because I was a woman, but because he considered me innocent. I was not his target. I was no longer fighting him and forcing him to defend. I was innocent in his eyes as one who had been manipulated by an agent of the devil, driven to obtain a treasure that… I am not sure what it does."

"Terrible and great things. I pray he is successful in taking it from the evil hands it is now in. I pray he can free the people. We are still at war. You will serve next under the new head of the Templar order. I believe his name is Armand Bouchart. You are a Templar first, warrior of God. You will serve as he sees fit. Though understand that the assassins are not our allies and your failure is still noted. I relieve you of duty for a month till Bouchart can arrive to take his place as commander of the Templar forces. I wish that meant you were under my orders. However, the Templars belong to Rome and not England. Maria Thorpe is dead. I will send record of this to England. Hand over your rights to the name. You are now nothing to England. You belong to Rome, Templar Maria."

The king's words took several minutes to sink in before she painfully fumbled off her gauntlet and her signet ring. It would return home to her husband and her family with a letter from the king with his seal upon it. She was free. He freed her of any duties she might have to England. The king nodded to his aid who was already preparing medical supplies. "Templar Maria, your cousin is in Jerusalem. I will have a squire guide you. Before you go, my personal aid will treat your wounds. Peace be upon you and safety in your future travels. Hold true to God and he will never wrongly guide you." King Richard laid his hand briefly upon her head as he stood and walked past her. He stepped from the tent to attend to his soldiers, leaving her in the competent hands of the king's own physician.

Cleaned, stitched and bandaged, Maria traveled at an easy pace with the squire back toward Jerusalem. She stayed quiet most of the way. Her thoughts filled with concern for her cousin who she thought was dead. Her thoughts also filled with the image and memories of this assassin, Altair. She remembered the look of him under his hood as she had looked up into it, blade at her throat. He was not dark skinned as most natives. He was fair, like a European. His hair was a light brown and straight, cropped short. His eyes shone golden brown like the Germanic Eagle. His expression firm, even in that brief moment of surprise. She could not help smiling at his surprise that he realized he was almost bested by a woman. If she should ever see him again, she would remind him of that, just for the amusement of it. She wondered where he had gotten the prominent scan on his mouth. Must have happened in the many fights he had. She had to shake her head to dislodge him from her thoughts.

The days passed hotly, but they reached Jerusalem without incident. The squire guided her to a nondescript building that looked more like a warehouse. There the squire left her, handing her a note to where she should report to after to rejoin the Templar forces under a new command. She knocked upon the door and ask for her cousin by name when an old man opened it.

She did not expect them to understand her language. To her own surprise, they did. She walked through this building with wide eyes, unseen under her helm. All languages were spoken here. All religions were honoured. Apparently her arrival was expected. She only wished she had expected the sight before her. In a quiet nook sat her cousin, blinded in both eyes. She removed her helm and greeted him cautiously. They exchanged news and secrets. He held her as she wept for him and herself. He had always loved and supported her and cherished her understanding of his love for another man. She had _said God guides our hearts and if we love with honour, then it is God's will and no one should have the right to force something else upon us._ It was a lesson she learned from having been forced into a marriage herself despite her own personal calling. Finally, he warned her of the cancer plaguing the Templars and to be ever on alert. He advised her, that the enemy of your enemy is your friend. Trust in God and he will send someone to save you. She figured that he meant the Christ as they were Christian, but she wondered just a little considering where she sat with him, in this Gnostic temple disguised as a warehouse.

He decided to devote his life now to the Truth, here in this temple.

Before she left him, she too made a vow to God to devote herself to the Truth in whatever form God would reveal it to her.

* * *

A/N #2 – Thought you might want to see some pic of Maria:

http:/ images. wikia .com /assassinscreed/images/3/33/Maria_

http:/ bechedor79 .deviantart .com/art/Maria-Thorpe-183856159

http:/ images .wikia .


	238. Chapter 238: Kadar's Light in the Dark

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – So, last chapter, I tied up the loose end of Maria. Now… for some more tying up of loose ends… Kadar, his dad, and Abby. You know the end is near when I am starting to formally tie up the loose ends. I hope you have all enjoyed this story thus far.

* * *

Before she left him, she too made a vow to God to devote herself to the Truth in whatever form God would reveal it to her.

Kadar made a vow of his own when he arrived home. His father had welcomed him with open arms. Abby had embraced him with as much affection and promised him a good bath and a much needed body rub. Kadar wanted more than anything to sink into that bath and allow his lover to massage away the feeling of this rough journey. However, he had unfinished business with his father.

In this one short adventure, Kadar had grown from boy to man. He learned things that could cost him his life or his family's lives. He had been beaten by those he thought were friendly or protecting his lands. He had been taken care of by those he thought were the enemy. Naheem had explained much, but not all.

"Father," Kadar stepped into the pr4ivate den of the estate with his father, "What are you? Are you one of Them?" He demanded answers and explanations with his tone and his eyes.

His father sighed, knowing one of his children would one day realize and ask these very questions. "No and yes." He raised his hand to show the severed finger. "I was, but I am no longer. Kadar, sometimes terrible things must be done for the greater good of a people and sometimes, you need those willing to act when no one else will to stop such things as cruelties, slavery, and so much more. Yes, I served among them for a time. But I am retired and have not served for a great many years." He reached out to reassure Kadar.

Kadar recoiled. "You lied to us!"

"No, I chose to keep my promise of silence to protect the family I love and to keep them out of the politics rising in this land."

Kadar's head swam and drowned in the confusion and frustration. "But Tibah! And me! You are wedding her into that! And let me…" He dared not say that his father sent him into such danger on purpose.

His father grabbed his hands firmly. "My son. Kadar. I wed Tibeh into it so as to ensure she is safe. Otherwise, I am sure you know, she would find her own way in without our help. And that could be far more dangerous. As for you. Kadar, I am so very very proud of who you have grown into, the man you are becoming. Honorable, responsible, brave. I encouraged you on this journey because I truly felt that you alone would be able to do it. I would never have sent you if I did not think you could return home alive and well." He watched his son's eyes moisten and hugged him close. "I have taught you to protect and to love without discriminating. And you do. The order of assassins does this too, but I would never force you into their ranks."

"Father," Kadar choked out, "What do I do? I know so much and have so many questions."

His father considered this and resigned himself to knowing he might lose two children to the order. He didn't hate the order, he just did not like how it had been run. The underlying traces of AL Mualim had stirred him to escape. But what will become of the order now? Will Altair reclaim it from the corrupt Master? Will he become corrupted himself? Will Malik survive? Will that book Kadar brought o Malik help in any way? Only time would tell. For now, the desperate questioning in his son's eyes begged attention now. "My son, you will bathe and relax and heal from this journey. Spend some time with Abby. He missed you. Then I will introduce you to an old friend who can begin to answer some of your questions. After that, perhaps we will see Master Malik again and we will discuss further training. I am too old and fat and out of practice to train you any more than I have. However, I will teach you this… The Creed."

And for the next hour, Kadar learned the moral code he would be considering for the remainder of his life.

He dragged tired feet to his room where warm food and sweet chilled juice awaited him. Abby dimmed the lighting by turning down the lanterns and pouring the last kettle of hot water into a bath he had prepared. Kadar wanted to say how much he loved Abby for thinking of all this. Kadar wished he had the energy to be a lover to this amazing person before him.

"Kadar, my love," Abby murmured gently as he washed the grime of travel from Kadar's hair, "You need not ever think you must perform for me. You have shown me the utmost patience while I healed. I am just as capable of showing the same for you." He gestured towards the bed, "I even planned for you to have the best sleep ever." He wrapped a towel around Kadar's naked body and guided him to the bed to dry off some. On the bedside table was Tibah's handiwork. A soothing bottle of bergamot massage oil stood next to a jasmine flower tea. Both had the intended effect of relaxing, healing, and inducing a good deep sleep.

Abby's long fingers worked the last of the knots out of Kadar's back well past the time Kadar's breathing indicated sleep had claimed him. He placed gentle kisses upon the healing wounds that were healing and whispered a wish of sweet dreams before cleaning up the room and climbing into the same bed to cuddle the sleeping Kadar. Despite the almost five year physical age difference where Kadar was the younger of the two, this journey aged Kadar mentally and emotionally. One would never think they were anything but the same age by now. Abby prayed, hoping God did not reject what he was and his sexual orientation so much, that Kadar would never endure experiences that would age him more. However, considering the role of a warrior, Abby knew Kadar would be faced with terribly choices one day and have that haunted look he had seen in some men who had blood on their hands. "I will always be here to be the light in your life when things seem dark."

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A/N #2 – We will see Abby and Kadar again. I am not totally done with them yet. Should I do a chapter now from Tibah's perspective?


	239. Chapter 239: Home to Jerusalem

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Don't worry. I have not forgotten this fic. I know you have seen some tying up of the loosish ends. There is still some to go. New job and school are keeping me very busy, but I am still working on this. Thanks for sticking with me!

* * *

However, considering the role of a warrior, Abby knew Kadar would be faced with terribly choices one day and have that haunted look he had seen in some men who had blood on their hands. "I will always be here to be the light in your life when things seem dark."

Malik blinked in the morning light. Sahar remained a silent shadow, the aid Malik never wanted. He tried to think of this shadow as a novice like Naheem, but missed the cheeriness of Naheem and the chatty questions of Junayd. One evening on the route, he tested Sahar's sword skills himself. He was surprised to find them relatively adequate. Rank four assassins usually were. Sahar would need more training to get better, but many assassins never really progressed past this rank anyways.

They rode down the steep zigzag road to Jerusalem. "When we get there, you stay the hell out of sight. People know me. I can't have you seen. I don't need the trouble of trying to explain who you are. Find your way into the city yourself and get to the Bureau. I'll be there eventually."

Dismounting a horse was easy without help. He just could not mount up without Sahar's assistance. Now the young assassin was no longer needed. He handed the reigns over to some youth at the stables outside of the city walls and showed his citizenship to the guards at the gates for entry. As he walked the familiar streets of Jerusalem, he thought about sending Sahar back to Masyaf. After cleaning up, eating well and restocking, that is what he planned to do. Sahar would better serve in Masyaf and will be able to get more training. Malik would be too busy now to really train anyone. Speaking of training, maybe he would send Junayd with Sahar.

He entered the great market of the rich district and inhaled the wonderful familiar scents. His eyes landed on the apothecary stall where Tibah stood mixing a medicine for some client. Her eyes often lifted in a particular direction. Malik blended secretly into the crowd and followed her gaze to Naheem sitting on a bench with his sketchbook. The scent of spices, dusty carpets, preserving oils, leather, reeds from woven baskets, comfortingly filled Malik's nose. The sight of the novice he had grown to adore like a little brother eased his heart. Naheem looked well, looked… in love. He wondered how their courtship fared while he had been away for almost this whole month. Other familiar smells pressed him. Fresh sweat from the heat of the day, perfumed waters covering the choking stale sweat of those who bathed infrequently. That was the majority of the populous. Malik found these smells both wonderful and hateful. He wrinkled his nose and covered it with his hand. Then he recalled that he smelled no better at the moment after several days on the road. Disgusted with himself he left the market for the Bureau. His thoughts drifting repeatedly to Naheem's shy smile and soft hands that swiftly stroked paper with charcoal trying to capture some image of beauty, likely Tibah.

Tibah followed her father's and brother's orders to be discreet and chaste. She kept her veils covering her head, though allowed a thick brown curl to escape for Naheem's eyes to catch. Her eyes flirted every second they could. Naheem blushed every time she looked at him. She knew what he was, that his missing finger meant he was like the great eagle. But he did not seem like one who would draw blood. His studious and artistic nature made her think of jasmine flowers climbing walls. Or maybe it was climbing roses. Yes, roses fit better for Naheem. Beautiful, captivating, gentle, so very sweet. Yet, thorns that could hurt if you really were careless enough to cross him. She had yet to see that side of this young man she was to marry. His fumbling in her presence only endeared her more to him.

She longed to touch his hands again. And when he helped set up the stalls or take them down, their hands often brushed. Her father sometimes would get fed up with the sickeningly sweet exchanges and cast them out to walk hand in hand about the market. Naheem wasn't always there, especially now that Kadar had returned. She reminded herself that he had his own business to look after. He had scrolls to inscribe, maps to draw, and mysterious people to attend to and send off on secret missions.

She begged her father time and again to let her spend some time in the map-maker's business place to keep Naheem company. He always refused, not without a chaperone. She could hardly wait now for their actual wedding. Her mother and sisters were already making plans. And soon, though not remotely soon enough, she will be there where she can help Naheem directly and be under Master Malik's tutelage in doctoring. She had not seen the angels in a long time, but her faith remained strong. This path she shone clear before her and she fully intended to walk it. That Naheem stirred her heart to beat faster only made it better. She would have just as happily married Master Malik in order to learn doctoring, but she definitely preferred Naheem.

Besides, she recalled seeing that eagle of a man half naked, which brought a light blush to her cheeks, coming out of Master Malik's own bedroom. To marry the map maker would interfere in that love relationship. She dared not think to condemn them either since that would mean she condemned her own brother for his choices. Abby had not allowed Kadar out of the bedroom at home for almost two days. She smirked to herself under the veil. Her eyes again caught Naheem's across the market square. She wondered what it would be like to be confined to his bed for a couple days. Her veil about her face hid the warmth coloring it.

Naheem still seemed to note it, even at that distance. He smiled as he blushed back as he made small additions to his sketch. A glance up told him he has lingered here long enough. He raised his fingers in a tiny wave. The charcoal stick still in them. He waited for her to wave back before he vanished like a quiet ghost into the milling crowd to make his way back home. Yes, the bureau was home now for him. His busy days filled with helping Tibah's family set up their stall, hurrying to his architecture lessons, training with Junayd sometimes, absorbing the knowledge of the old Dai of Jerusalem, lunching and drawing in the market square, taking orders for maps, scrolls and now a few art requests to his complete excitement, serving as novice rafiq in the Bureau for the assassins and informants (though few assassins came through here), trying not to worry about Malik (without success), helping pack the stall again for Tibah's family, and finally back to his own training in the Bureau. He found himself behaving more religiously now that Malik was away, praying to whatever was out there for his safety.

He opened the Bureau door. "AAAH!" he yelled and instinctively threw a little throwing knife a little wide at the dark figure behind the counter.

"Naheem! You NOVICE!" Malik yelled back.

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A/N #2 – *snicker* I mixed my Malik and Tibah chapter.


	240. Chapter 240: Malik: Catching Up

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – work… work… work… A ton of reviews manifested in my inbox. Thank you so much! I am on holiday (one day… ugh) and will work on a chapter or two for you all.

* * *

He opened the Bureau door. "AAAH!" he yelled and instinctively threw a little throwing knife a little wide at the dark figure behind the counter.

"Naheem! You NOVICE!" Malik yelled back.

The little throwing knife wobbled, well-stuck behind him about three inches from his face. Malik glanced at it then back at Naheem. "You novice," he grumbled again. "That was a good book. You are responsible for fixing it or transcribing every page and getting it rebound." He plucked the knife out of the book's spine. "And you missed… by a lot. I thought I told you to practice. I am perfectly capable of dodging your terrible aim, but you shouldn't be this terrible. And one last thing… I honestly didn't believe him till now. Altair was right. You give yourself away. NEVER yell before you throw! In fast… never yell at all!"

Naheem had tried to mutter in the lecture his various small apologies, but by the end, he could not stop his snickering. Malik… lecturing at him about not yelling, while he was yelling himself. Naheem locked the door struggling to stand as his snickering turned to giggling then to laughing. He sat on the floor by the locked door and laughed so hard he had to hold his stomach from the pain.

Laughter is so contagious. Yes, Malik was chuckling too, not really sure why. No, he knew why. _I am home. Naheem is fine. The Bureau is still intact._ It was relief, bubbling up after so much stress. Not that the stress was over, Altair was still in Masyaf undoing what Al Mualim had done to the people. An almost silent thud came from the carpeted room. An assassin sat silently out of the way.

Naheem glanced over, seeing the assassin through the grill of the window to the room. Since no pigeons crammed the window, he could see the new assassin. Naheem forced himself to recover and limped to the doorway, "Safety and peace, brother. You are a new face for me. Are you here long? On mission? Or shall I find you a mission?"

"That is Sahaar. He speaks not." Malik opened up the big log book and see what has been done while he was gone. "He has been… assigned to me."

"Oh! So you did it then? And… does that mean there is a new Grand Master of the order? Is … he… dead?" Naheem hungered for news.

"Al Mulaim is dead. Master Altair now holds his position as Grand Master." He continued to read through the book.

Naheem took the silent cue cautiously. The assassin new he was not really wanted at Malik's side, it was clear in the way he hung out of the way, bot interfering in anything. Naheem could tell how annoyed Malik was by this addition by the way Malik ignored the new assassin. He decided to tread carefully around the whole issue for the moment. He made some drinks and food. Full bellies always helped foul moods. He brought out the drinks and food bit by bit. He limped gingerly on his leg without the cane. However once sitting to eat his own meal, he rubbed it unconsciously.

Malik came over with salve, "Here. You should rub this in. It will help with the ache." He sat down next to Naheem, who stripped off his pants to do as he was told. "Novice, you see you have really taken in the training for a rafiq. You have done as I have done and gone to see the old dai."

"How come you didn't go to see him much earlier?"

"I needed to work things out on my own and heal in more ways that just my arm. Report to me novice rafiq" Malik was so proud of what he had discovered in the logs. Naheem had done so well and on his own had almost caught up to Malik's own rafiq and dai training. Naheem only lacked the deep education Malik had, the assassin experience, and life experience. "And Miss Tibah? How are things there?"

Naheem forgot what he was about to say, blushing a deep red. He coughed to clear the food he almost choked on. Malik chuckled again. "I suppose I will have to be a good uncle and finalize the marriage arrangements." Naheem's goofy grin swiftly followed Malik's words.

Only after Malik had thoroughly inspected everything in the Bureau did he check in on Sahaar, who was by now fast asleep with a full belly and no immediate commitments, exhausted from the traveling. Malik took away the empty plate. Now he needed to get that report from Naheem properly and to make formal changes in the log book about what happened in Masyaf.

Soft scratching sounds filled the back room as Naheem sketched, practicing for the drafting lessons he had every morning. He worked on a layout map of the market. Malik covertly peeked at the drawing, realizing that Naheem had actually been working while in the market and not there to just makes calf-eyes at Tibah. Rather, the teen was multitasking. Malik smirked to himself and sat down. With a more serious tone, he asked, "Rafiq Naheem. Does this job suit you well?"

Warm brown eyes lifted with a gentle smile full of contentment. "Yes. I know I can never leave the order. And really, I never want to. There are too many people in it that I value. Also, I have come to understand that the world really does need us. It is as you told me. Sometimes, a dark thing needs to be done to right the wrongs. It takes a special kind of person to be able to do so. A special kind of hero, willing to give up everything including his life. Even if I did in the end want to be an assassin, my leg still hurts too much." His answer came out with no shyness or uncertainty.

Malik felt pride grow large in his chest for this teen who grew so fast before him.

"Master Malik? There are some things though that I also noticed. Things I don't know how to handle in this position as rafiq, nor do I really understand the difference between a rafiq and a dai. And considering how … traitorous Al Mualim was, what happens now?"

Malik had to think carefully. His fingers fiddled with the hem of his dai robes wishing they could comb through Altair's feather-soft hair again. "As I said, Altair is now the Grand Master of our order. He is very busy correcting Al Mualim's wrongs in our city. I came back to let you know. I'll have to go to each of the other bureau's to let them know as well. I do not dare just send word by bird. What happens now is we clean up our own mess before we try to handle any further missions. That way we can be sure we choose them correctly and no longer continue down the wrong path."

"Are the Templar's still our enemies?"

"Yes. Beyond any doubt, they are." Malik would never be able to find forgiveness for them, not in this lifetime and not likely in any other. Although, some individuals certainly did challenge his perspectives of them, like his brother Faruq's lover.

"Master Malik? When I marry Miss Tibah, she will have to know everything, right? What will happen to her?"

Malik places a warm tanned hand over Naheem's. "She is a good choice for a wife. She will understand and accept the dangers and choices of our order. I think she already knows a great deal more than is truly safe for her to know. I am glad my instincts are correct and that she can keep such things secret. That, by the way, is part of the role of a dai. To see in another the possibility and place they could hold in the order. I suppose I will have to teach her medicine as I teach you to be a dai. Dai, blend into any culture, religion, society. They change their faiths in open smoothly to continue to blend in or hold them so ambiguously that no one would ever truly know which religion you held to. In that way, all people's accept you. And in that way, you keep an open mind and can actively recruit for the order. That is the added role of a dai that a rafiq noes not do."

"Oh." Naheem stayed quiet, brow slightly wrinkled as he drew out a few more lines on his page. "Her brother knows everything now, since he went out to bring you that journal. He cornered me here for answers and confirmations. I tried real hard to be vague, but he knows everything. What should we do? I don't think he will tell anyone."

This was not unexpected. However, it was inconvenient. "I will speak with his father on it tomorrow. I think he could join the order with his lover. They will find safety among us and he could expand his training knowledge, maybe even become a guard within our city." He almost chuckled to himself at how Naheem did recruit after all.

The serious glance now and then from Naheem warned Malik of something of far greater concern. "Master Malik? One of our informants was in Damascus. The dai there is planning to take over the order."

The book Malik had been taking notes in banged shut so jarringly, that Naheem's charcoal stylus streaked messily across the page and broke. "I will deal with that… man… myself." Naheem looked away swiftly from the cold killer coal of Malik's eyes. Malik had to take in several deep calming breaths before he dared speak again. "I will make some changes to your training, Naheem. You need to study more religions, history, geography, philosophy and languages. Your drafting lessons are over. They will help you well enough in your map making. You must now find your own niche. The scholarly studies are what will help you be a better rafiq and later a dai."

As much as Naheem enjoyed the drawing, he found himself deeply relieved to no longer be committed to9 the early morning lessons. Drafting was interesting, but he much preferred fancy lettering, scribing, transcribing, and drawing organic scenes instead of stark lines of buildings and floor plans.

Malik wrote into the giant log book the very rare entry of a change in the leadership of the order. He then dug out an also rarely used stamp that he brought from Masyaf directly just for this solemn task and marked the page with a formal seal of the order, a triangle with a broken curved bottom. "I know I just got here, Naheem. And I will be speaking to Miss Tibah's father tomorrow. But, I will have to part soon after. I must travel to each of the other cities in this area and to our base in Cypress. I need to deliver this news of Al Mualim and Altair in person. And… clean up a few… lingering messes. Will you be alright to continue here without me?"

"Uh… yeah." His voice dropped with his joy and his shoulders sagged a little. He missed Malik and even Altair. Malik's hand lifted his chin and forces the teen you look at him directly. Naheem met those charcoal eyes. "Yes, Master Malik. I will manage."

"Good. I am very pleased with how you have handled things so far. I knew I could entrust you with all this." He recalled the time Naheem had mentioned how praise had so rarely been doled out. Malik witnessed the magic of positive encouragement in his few words of praise. Naheem had puffed up with pride. Malik nodded satisfied with the result and the teen… no man… before him. "I will deal with Damascus first. Then I will have to come back to it. See this seal that I just used? You guard it with your life till I reclaim it. If I am not back in two weeks, send… send Kadar back to Masyaf to get Altair. It will mean I will need help. But I highly doubt that will be necessary." Malik has been waiting a long time to confront this particular dai. He intended to bring his very best steel for this encounter. But first, there were things in Jerusalem that needed tending to.

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A/N #2 – I got a little behind on replying to all your comments, reviews, and PM's. I promise that I will reply to every one of them.

A/N #3 – and because I haven't put in any art recently… thanks to the artists who did these two!

Tibah & Naheem in love: http:/ eternalpain88 .deviantart .com/art/Novice-in-Love-205773413

Malik's female informant: http:/ snow-kitten-88 .deviantart .com/art/Female-Informant-205510280


	241. Chapter 241: Altair in Masyaf

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Just a little poke into Altair's life. I was missing him.

* * *

Malik had been waiting a long time to confront this particular dai. He intended to bring his very best steel for this encounter. But first, there were things in Jerusalem that needed tending to.

Altair stood among the assassins and families, the informants and scholars, the rafiqs and dai that he had freed thus far. A month of work and there seemed to be so few compared to times when Altair was younger and among the novices. Even those were few. Many still needed freeing, but with the help of the brotherhood, that process went smoother.

He stood now where Al Mualim usually stood, looking down into the courtyard and training grounds. They all looked up expectantly. He had a seneschal that Malik had recommended with him to provide a list of needs in order of priority. As much as Altair had used to want the attention, be considered the best of the best, now that he was here, he was feeling much anxiety. It should be Malik by his side, not this seneschal.

With a deep sigh of longing for some mythical normal or the comfort of running a mission, Altair addressed the meagre masses. "Al Mualim's rule is over. No more will you suffer in ignorance. We are free people. FREE!" A cheer roared up and almost made him take a step back. "This freedom came with a price. A heavy one. Friends, family, brothers. This freedom was not won alone. I cannot do this alone. We are the Brotherhood. We are the Order of Assassins as the Templars call us. We work together to keep these lands and these people free!" Another roar of praise. Some would suffer quite the ego boost or rush of power from such an experience. Altair, he just wanted to hide.

The seneschal nudged Altair when the silence started to stretch. Altair cleared his throat again. I am Grand Master of this order and I have appointed Malik A-Sayf as my second. He takes the news of AL Mualim's treachery to our brothers in the cities of the Holy Land. The seneschal carries with him a list of other appointed posts and the duties that need tending at the moment. Heed his summons as they come. Masyaf must be rebuilt, must be secured."

Thankfully the seneschal stepped forward to take over. He called out a series of names and times through the day for appointments and the hard and heavy tasks of rebuilding Masyaf began.

Altair finally retreated into the fort to the room he and Malik had shared. He always had that gut lurch when he saw the door, but the inside no longer looked like the room Al Mualim taught him in. He realized how badly he missed Malik and it had been only a week or so. The urge to fly on the fastest horse to Jerusalem almost seized him. The realization that Malik likely won't be there when he arrives kept him from acting on the urge. He had kept up his journaling on Malik's request. It was just to practice venting his thoughts and perfecting language and penmanship. The latter two likely would never improve, but he sat and wrote anyways. He wanted his other soft leather journal that Malik made for him. But it was also in Jerusalem.

Altair started to pace the upper floor where the great desk sat. He paced it like a caged lion. A couple novices climbed the stairs with a few mindless people in tow. It was back to work for Altair. Work? He ought to be out killing. He ought to be out doing what he did best, not cooped up here behind a desk! Duty and responsibility. Maybe Malik was punishing his by leaving him here to do this desk work like a dai.

He shook his head and lifted the shimmering ball from one of his belt pouches. This was a much stronger reminder as to why it was he stuck here and not Malik. This metal ball, this Piece of Eden, this apple or treasure that could be a curse or a blessing. Temptation in a small toy. Cursed to corrupt. It held power and knowledge, and some map that Altair still could not make appear a second time. He had no urge to use this thing, yet it obeyed his will in freeing the people. It just refused to obey him in any other way. Maybe because he was so irreverent. Maybe because he was so corrupted by other things that there was no more room to corrupt and ruin him.

He spent the night freeing more people, checking the novices and assassins training, exploring the castle anew… alone. He stood in the tower instructing two novices on the Leap of Faith. After they have both jumped and made their way back to their mentors, he stepped out on the wood overhang. The night wind whipped at his robes. The distant crashing of water could be from the gorge below. Moonlight provided the only illumination. Alone. He stood there alone watching the sky shift to pre-dawn. When the lonely cry of an eagle split the morning air, he leapt. Arms spread like eagle wings; he hovered for just a second before the fall. Faith in whatever-divine-was-out-there would deem he live.

He walked away yet again. This time, he thought of reasons why he yet lived. Malik marked the top of that list.

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A/N #2 – And because pictures are always so amazing. Here are a few that helped inspire me.

http:/ xanthocephalus .deviantart .com/art/Gaze-upon-Masyaf-209348406

Here are some from much earlier chapters:

Eagle and Chalice - http:/ raccooncitizen .deviantart .com/art/The-Eagle-and-The-Chalice-212034417

Altair's Scar - http:/ letyumino .deviantart .com/art/The-Scar-202286875


	242. Chapter 242: Malik: The Dai Recruits

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Got side tracked with other fanfic and the need to write three workshops for a festival I will be teaching at. What am I teaching this summer? Aura Cleansing. Rites of Passage. AND! For the fun of it… Zombie Apocalypse Preparation & Survival. Now back to the regular work of this fic.

* * *

He walked away yet again, alive. This time, he thought of reasons why he yet lived. Malik marked the top of that list. The world and the brotherhood were also on that list. Who else suffered as he and as these people did under a corrupt man with a strange treasure? That blasphemous map of a round world had many markers on it. Altair was sure they marked the location of other similar treasures. He wished he could open this one and see it again. He wished Malik could make a blasphemous round world map on paper. Maybe he would ask him to do so.

Malik looked through the maps that Naheem had created while Naheem slept. It felt a little surreal being back in the Jerusalem Bureau. Naheem's maps were decent, but his artworks were significantly better, as were his scribe works. He concluded that Naheem should expand on what he does best. The maps are a good fall-back if you have nothing else. They are like easy money. He spotted a couple books by Naheem's bedside. History, religious literature, poetry of Rumi, and the handbook created for the rafiqs of the Bureaus. Malik smiled at Naheem's proactive nature. This was indeed a good choice, though not his. This was again Altair's wise choice. Naheem, once fully trained will make an excellent rafiq. And once he is well educated, he will make an excellent dai.

Only now, in the quiet of the night, did Malik take out some of his own books to look at by the light of the oil lamp. The mind healing book written by his brother Faruq, while important, was not what he needed to focus on. The records of informants and bureaus held his attention. He needed to send out some informants to gather intel for him on the Damascus bureau. He listed a few names and then scratched one name out. That man died here in this bureau while Malik was in Masyaf. He felt badly for Naheem who had to deal with that. He felt badly for the family he failed through his absence. A trip to the aviary will be necessary in the morning to call these specific informants, trusted ones from various locations.

Finally, he mulled over Naheem's notes about that inspector. Naheem handled him well. So, the man was a decent informant and assassin. Much like Malik's personally acquired men in Jerusalem, this one belonged to the dai of Damascus. Yet, Naheem had left him with things to ponder. Malik wondered if he could find him and gain information from him, maybe have him turn coat. But, can you trust such a man? A message from the aviary will have to be sent to Acre as well, since that is where the man was heading. Maybe the Dai there could stall him till Malik arrived.

He dug out of his pack a heavy embossing seal, a kind of pressed seal that embossed paper. It was rarely used but for these moments when the great logs of the bureau were to be marked with great changes to the order. He stamped a blank page in the large log book and inscribed the next page with the news after dating the page.

_On this day, Grand Master Al Mualim's power over the Order of our Brotherhood is formally ended. He has been proven a traitor having worked for the Templars for many years as he poisoned the Order from within. He betrayed us, and them, in the end. The great Master Assassin Altair ibn La'Ahad, faced and felled Al Mualim, freeing Masyaf from enslavement under him. Altair is hereby named Grand Master and head of the Order. He has decreed the dai Malik A-Sayf as his second in command._

He had to flip back to a much earlier section of the book to see what was done the last time this seal stamped a page. New laws and decrees should follow, but at this time there were none. Malik wondered what to add. He made small notes that Masyaf is under reparation and further news will follow soon. He signed it himself with his own personal seal. This will have to be done for each book. He then made a new note for the morning.

_I, Malik A-Sayf and second in command of the Order, appoint novice rafiq Naheem Bahir to the position of junior rafiq to the bureau of Jerusalem._

Yes, that would do nicely. The raise in rank was well earned. He mentally enjoyed the surprise he was leaving Naheem. The morning dawned too soon for Malik, but the routine of the bureau woke him to duty, with a yell of startlement. Junayd encountered Sahar the hard way. Malik and Naheem soon joined the two for the routine of morning training. Prayer, language lessons, lessons on duties of assassins and the care of equipment, and finally blade training. Malik made small corrections, compliments, and criticism.

To Naheem's disappointment, Kadar had been right about how poor his swordsmanship was. Naheem mentioned that Kadar insisted on training him. Malik approved and informed Naheem that when he visits Tibah's household, he will stay for that very training an hour every day.

Naheem groaned as Junayd snickered. "Well, why should I be the only one in lessons ALL day EVERY day?" demanded Junayd.

"It is not like I do nothing here!" snapped Naheem.

Malik understood the tension. Sometimes nothing is exactly what you ended up stuck with while you waited and waited and wondered and worried. Makes anyone irritable, especially if they were alone and as gently and sweetly sociable as Naheem. That marriage will have to be very soon, decided Malik. After breakfast, Junayd rushed to his next lessons. Naheem limped with his cane to the market to make a number of purchases that Malik needed, list in hand, including his formal letter of request to Kadar for the honour of sword lessons. Malik would have wanted to continue teaching him himself, but he was going to be away with the other bureaus for a couple weeks.

The dusty streets with their shadows bade Malik look up, recalling the strange incidents of the past. Sahar was the only strange incident. Malik ground his teeth together. He did NOT need a body guard! His hand instinctively groped for his blade for reassurance. It found nothing. He had done as he had to, left it behind for the lie he maintained of himself as a simple crippled map maker in Jerusalem. At least Sahar kept to the rooftops and stayed out of sight. This shadow following him was going to grate on his nerves till he killed her or Altair or both.

He tried very hard to banish the young assassin from his mind as he was welcomed into the home of the aviary. He commented about the woman's glow for the new child she carried. The informant greeted him warmly and with relief for his safe return. The little girl, Elli as Malik recalled her name, eagerly tugged his empty sleeve till he followed her up to where the message birds were.

She diligently informed him how to tie on messages and how to release the birds. "And then you tie here and then you tie there and then you give a treat and then to pet them and then you take them out and then you shake them free and then you wave goodbye." She waved goodbye to each one and called out their names as they flew off. Malik thought about telling her that each bird was relatively different and the next bird that gets shipped by cart to be placed in this cage may not be the same bird she named. Her innocence reminded him far too much of his own little brother's innocent naming of every animal they met in Masyaf.

His next stop was Tibah's family home where he hoped to meet with her father. Kadar stood in the doorway. They stared at each other so long that his father had to pull him back to allow Malik entry. Kadar licked at his fresh scar on his mouth and his missing tooth before striding past Malik to the market to guard his sister and their cart, his first day back on duty that Abby was allowing him. The two older men retired to the garden where sweet pastries, drinks, and hookah pipes awaited them.

Malik allowed the gentle silence to grow while he worded his concerns and questions in his head.

The older man broke the silence first, "So, shall we discuss the fate of my daughter or my son?"

Malik smiled at the man's perception and ability to cut precisely to the point. "Tibah and Naheem ought to marry soon. I would like to get this in motion if we can. Ideally, before one or the other does something regrettable or embarrassing for either of us."

The man laughed aloud at Malik's comment. "You have not seen him these past couple weeks. He acts with great honour and respect, though that may have a lot to do with how shy he is with Tibah. True, she is the bolder one. Shame their genders are not different. But yes, I am eager for this marriage, as is the whole family. My other daughters are already plotting!"

"Good! Let the women design a lovely wedding while we discuss other serious matters."

"Indeed." He wondered and not at Malik's notions. Tibah's training as a doctor under Malik was part of this deal. He hoped Malik could still make good on this promise or the arrangement between Naheem and Tibah could fail badly. "her apprenticeship, I assume is still assured, despite the changes I assume have happened recently?"

Malik nodded, "Yes, her apprenticeship is assured. Naheem will need someone with such skills, especially after the recent loss. Thank you, by the way, for being there for him."

"I am gaining a son, of course I will be there for him when I can."

"Speaking of sons." Nothing, not even words are wasted between these men. "Kadar is exceptional, and now knows more than is comfortable. I don't think it is safe for him or Abby with such knowledge. He will want to know more, even though he carries recitations and perhaps a little animosity."

"It will give him a better edge, a sense of wariness and awareness. I have trained him as far as I could, but I have been away from that life for too long."

Malik leaned back in his plush garden chair with his pastry. "He is very critical of sword skills. I should like to test him myself. For the moment, while I am away for another week or so, I would like Naheem to train under him. As they are both men, Naheem will formally request him as a temporary teacher. It will be a good way to wean him into understanding."

"I agree. And if he passes your challenge? Will you be taking him away?"

"To Masyaf for more training. I would like to. He will be better challenged there." He thought a moment more. "Also, Abby would be safe there. We do not permit such discrimination within the order or the surrounding city."

"That is reassuring. It was not so when I had first joined. I will pray he does not fail your tests then." He was proud of his son. He would make an excellent guard. Protecting a sister is not a job forever for a brother. Protecting a merchant stall is a waste of Kadar's growing talents. "That mission with the book has opened his eyes to a larger world. It has rattled his understandings. The past few days have been hard for him to adjust to. His questions are many, many more than even I can answer."

"Then I look forward to taking him into our ranks, seeing him grow in skill and protect our Creed and Brethren." Malik thought of Altair and the organization of the order, the finances, the supplies and grunted a near chuckle. "We will gain Abby as well. How are his skills then as an accountant?"

"Ha! Better than I had ever expected! I will be sorry to lose my new accountant, but he will of course go wherever Kadar goes."

"Excellent."

"Then we are concluded. I will begin the arrangements for the marriage ceremony. All should be ready by the time you get back. Kadar, too, should be ready to face the possibilities and opportunities you will offer him."

Possibilities and opportunities. Both of those words were so positive that he intended to have Naheem create a scroll for Altair with them. The Brotherhood should be a light, a hope, a candle in the shadows swiftly culling the infections of the world. _We are the surgeons. We are the angels of justice._

Before parting ways, Malik had a promise to keep. He visited the triplets to check in on Sufyan (Stephan), Altair's son. He was doing well. It would be good news to bring back to Altair.

Malik as a map maker still had a cover to maintain. So Malik left behind a rough map for the older man to look at and give back to him with feedback. A round world map. The image had burned into his mind and plagued many dreams since he saw it. He hoped to recreate it more clearly for Altair when they both could consider that information better.

* * *

A/N #2 – Sahar: in case you all forgot:

http:/ anime-junkie16 .deviantart .com/art/Your-Left-Arm-149278973

And nope, no one has drawn Kadar and Abby yet.


	243. Chapter 243: Altair: Feel the Wind

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – I know there was a long delay for this chapter. Work… school… more work… and camping as a festival for 2 weeks with no internet or computer. Back now! Enjoy!

* * *

Malik left behind a rough map for the older man to look at and give back to him with feedback. A round world map. The image had burned into his mind and plagued many dreams since he saw it. He hoped to recreate it more clearly for Altair when they both could consider that information better.

The days dragged like wet robes. Altair hated both. He had been out in the desert edged cities for so long he forgot that Masyaf actually gets cold and wet weather. His breath puffed white beyond his hood as he stood in the tower on the wooden ledge, the same one he stood on so long ago when Robert invaded Masyaf. Despite the dangerous drop that could break your bones or land you in the river too many feet below, this was his favourite place to think. It was Malik's too. The first time they really connected intellectually was sitting on this ledge before they were old enough to learn the leap of faith. They wondered about war.

War was upon them now. It was as Malik had worried. Altair wished he had listened more then to Malik's grousing and worry. War came sliding in like a snake, or more like a slow moving disease. You resisted it and denied it. Then it practically claims your life unless you have ferocious tenacity to survive. Malik survived. _I will survive. Masyaf will survive. The Brotherhood will survive._

He stepped back into the tower instead of taking the leap of faith. The eys of a too eager novice watched from the shadows. "Longer not. Tell me your news."

The boy inched out with awe ad having been discovered by the great eagle. "The last villagers are in the great hall for you. What… what is out there?"

Altair stepped aside, "See for yourself." The boy cautiously stepped onto the plank but not far out. "Do not look down more than the smallest glance to be sure where your landing would be softest. Now look… out. Not up. That will make you dizzy. Look out. Out into the sky, over mountains and forest, over river and city. Feel that wind. This is the call of the eagle. You will learn to trust your own wings and soar too."

He took three swift steps and leapt. He barely heard the boy's gasp. He arched, hovered, curled and dove. Then he rolled in the air and trusted the wind and his wings, his robes to rush through his spirit moments before the hay engulfed him softly. Well, almost softly. He didn't bother to tell the boy how bloody annoying it was when the hay wriggled its way through your robes to your undergarments and poked the most sensitive parts of you. That would not be glamorous at all.

The boy lay on his belly peering over the edge and cheered to see Altair walk from the hay.

Altair paid the boy no further mind as he headed back through the passes and fallen trees to climb the watchtower. He strode to the main halls eager to be done with the freeing of minds. These were the last people. The city was starting to put itself back together. Soon… very soon… Malik would come back. And if he didn't… _I'll just go to him!_

His constant wary silence and lack of smiling always kept everyone on their toes, unsure what his mood was. The only ones unafraid were the young novices like the boy excitedly running through the tall tower to meet up with his friends and regale them with his tale of the encounter with the great grandmaster of the order. Altair lifted the dark leather pouch and loosed the string till it fell open to reveal the metal orb, the treasure or Apple of Eden. It looked like a child's toy or an odd jewel. By now, he knew better. As he commanded their minds free, it glowed just slightly. He tucked it away before the people came fully to their senses. For the millionth time he explained what happened and the state of things. He called someone to guide these people back and continue updating them.

Done. At last!

He needed to run, to fly, to fight… to kill. Needed to remind himself he is still an assassin. The Creed echoed in his head with Malik's voice. He muttered, "nothing is true and everything is permitted." His internal Malik echoed softly, _some things are true and some things are not permitted. We are the swords of justice when no other aid exists._ He countered his internal Malik, "Nothing is true and everything is permitted. There is no one truth for all and anything can happen, it is man who makes judgements and up to man to make them wisely, or as wisely as we can." _The Creed is a guide, like any other laws. Choose to live by it or not._

Altair opened a larger door and stepped down the stairs to the training grounds. He called out as loudly as he could, "Recite the Creed!"

All novices and ranked assassins haled what they were doing and recited almost in unison. The solidness of the words from so many hearts rocked him. He was their leader now. And they were at war. The head of the hydra was cut, but surely two more would rise from it. _But from where? When?_

The aviary master approached and bowed. Altair almost told him not to before recalling that this is what you do to the grandmaster. He used to be cocky and insist that lesser novices bow to him. They all used to hate him. He was traitor to them. Now they bow to him willingly with honour. Altair took the messages from the man and retreated quietly to the room he would share with Malik as a work room.

He had lined the room with shelves and books he thought Malik preferred, even some maps. He kept a full pot of incense grains that he sometimes lit to feel as if Malik were present. The secret journals of Robert and Al Mualim sat on a low desk with sun steeped tea in a pot. On the floor, several thick and richly pattered rugs overlapped haphazardly with a scattering of large plush pillows. Altair left the door open. He did not like it closed unless he was going to sleep in the other room.

He dropped onto the rugs and pillows as he might if he were in the Bureau in Jerusalem and already wished for the warmth of that city. He opened the messages and slowly and carefully decoded them. Such a long and painful task, but necessary. A rare smile touched his lips. They were from Malik, speaking of the wedding of Naheem. Altair decided he would do whatever he must in order to be present at it. He was not really religious, and cared little for the ceremony. But Naheem would be pleased for his presence. The other messages dashed the smile away as they were of news of death and of treachery. Malik was on his way to the other Bureaus to ascertain the status of things and inform them of the new leader. Acre was his next destination.

Malik shuddered. He hated Acre for all the damned water. Malik would be riding there soon, with Sahar silently shadowing him the whole way.

* * *

A/N #2 – thought you might like some pictures that I found recently on DA

http:/ shortiebat .deviantart .com/art/Ice-Cold-240596544

http:/ jael-kolken .deviantart .com/art/AC-Here-comes-the-snow-216294908

And in case you missed this one: Novice in love!

http:/ eternalpain88 .deviantart .com/art/Novice-in-Love-205773413


	244. Chapter 244: Malik's Bark

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Writing on the bus again. I know you are all feeling things drawing nigh. There are plenty of chapters yet to come before I am really done. Acre… Damascus… wedding… training in Masyaf… maybe a swimming lesson… and some Malic x Altair love… oh… and a death, not telling who though.

* * *

Altair shuddered. He hated Acre for all the damned water. Malik would be riding there soon, with Sahar silently shadowing him the whole way.

Before Malik left for Acre, he brought Naheem up to speed with the news. He had to wait for Naheem to stop being giddy from the promotion and wondered if he was ever like that when he received promotions. No. He concluded he was stoically proud while Altair strutted like an ass. Kadar on the other hand…

"_Malik, look!" Kadar woke his brother._

_Malik's eyes nearly fell out at the fuzzy not wholly away sight before him of a hand, fingers splayed with one missing and bleeding. He turned to see his little brother's face. Bright blue eyes shone and his grin beamed with barely contained excitement. Malik thought he would be sick. His baby brother was now a ranked assassin that could go on missions and die. He had sworn to protect him, and now knew he could not protect him from everything. He smiled anyways because Kadar was so happy._

"_Now I am an assassin like you, brother!" Kadar's joy wormed under the skin like a contagion. His grin grew even bigger when Malik smiled back. "I have to go show Faruq now!" Kadar bounced to his feet and dashed off._

Malik smiled for Naheem. He prayed that this novice will not end up like his brother and tried to hide the sadness in his heart.

Naheem hugged him. "I'll be fine. You are a great teacher, Master Malik. And I know I am never alone. And… neither are you."

Malik cleared his throat and gently pushed Naheem back. His words caught him his throat and he cleared it again. "The wedding plans are also in motion. I spoke with Tibah's father." The shy blush looked too adorable on Naheem and Malik had a hard time thinking of this teen as an adult about to be married and serving the Brotherhood of Assassins.

He packed his gear for travel. He wanted to see the place cleaned and the errands run before leaving. Everywhere he turned in the bureau, he saw Sahar. It was like he was tripping over her all the time. Finally he snarled and assigned her to clean the bureau.

She stood stalk still while he yelled and yelled some things that had nothing to do with cleaning and nothing to do with her. Then he stormed out for his personal errands and last minute speaking with people.

Naheem waited for a good five minutes after the door slammed before bursting out in laughter. Sahar gave him the look of one seeing a two-headed pig. That only made him laugh harder. She struggled with her orders from Altair to be the sword arm of Malik when he is out without a sword and Malik's order to stay put and clean the bureau. Naheem shoved the broom over to her. "Don't take it personally. I bet he has been fuming about stuff for days. You should feel honoured. If he hated you, he would not even speak to you. You were worth trusting to see him scared, angry, worried and hurt." He set some rags on the counter, "When you are done, can you do those ledges up there? I have to finish this map. Then you can be my body guard while I deliver it. Ok?"

Sahar swept and glanced over at Naheem often. He felt her eyes on him and raised his head. His smile was sweet and genuine. Had he known she was a girl, his reactions to her would surely have been different. At least that is how she figured based off his reactions about this Tibah girl. Sahar collected the rag with a sigh.

"Don't feel so bad. Malik makes everybody clean stuff here. No assassin gets away without being subject to him. He even makes Altair scrub stuff." Her eyes went large at Naheem's statement that the Grand Master of the order, even now, would be cleaning in the bureau. "At least he wasn't really mad. Otherwise you would be scrubbing the waste grill." They both shuddered and then laughed a little. She felt much better and realized that maybe he was joking about Altair scrubbing stuff for Malik. As she climbed the ledge and cleaned up there, she had to wonder.

Before they left the bureau, Naheem advised, "If you are going to shadow someone, you have to be invisible. It is part of the Creed. I should not see you. If I do, then surely Malik will see you too and that will piss him off because it will compromise his safety."

She nodded very seriously. She had not realized that that is what she might have been doing by staying close. She had not had many missions before imprisonment. She wanted to tell Naheem how much she appreciated his suggestions. He was such a novice compared to her, and yet here she was feeling like a new green recruit. In the ways of understanding Malik post-Kadar's death, she was the novice and Naheem the expert. She vanished from sight in the crowd, her thoughts darkened by the memory of the loss of the man she loved. It was a secret she would carry to the grave.

Malik bought supplies and some large rolls of paper. His excuse was that he would need to travel to deliver a map and he growled loudly and grumpily about having to travel yet again. Why couldn't customers come to him? Didn't they understand how difficult it was for him to get around and travel?

Sahar was so scarce as Malik finally made his way from Jerusalem a day later. He managed to get onto the horse on his own with great struggle. No Sahar was there to help him. He wondered briefly if the third rank young assassin had indeed left him and a small pang of guilt knotted in his belly as the horse clop-clopped up the curving road from the city. As he rounded a part of a rocky outcrop and looked back, he spotted Sahar in the near distance. His space was not being invaded and the novice was close enough that if he really REALLY really needed help, it would come. He felt less like he was being coddled now and more frustrated with himself for the small things he had so much trouble with.

Sahar only joined up in camp each night to share a silent meal, care for Malik's horse, and indicate the need for assistance in sword training. It was Naheem's suggestion. He recommended she ask Malik to teach her. She was only third rank after all and he was a master. To her relief Malik aided without question. Naheem was right. Malik just needed to feel special and important and knowledgeable. All of which he was, just feeling like the followed and protected cripple was bad for Malik's mood.

The scent of the sea crept from Acre, stinking of the foul sewers and of fish. The city came into view soon after.

* * *

A/N #2 – Here are some replies for the accountless folks I wish to say hi to and thanks to for their reviews!

**Rathana:** The Gnostic Gospels and the Gospel of Thomas are among my favourite religious texts. Glad you are seeing paralells. I know the passage you speak of regarding the fish and birds. It is a common one that was also used in a movie, too ("Ever After").

**Kikounette:** You read 78 chapters in one night! OMG! *blush* I am glad I am able to call forth emotion in my readers through the emotions of the characters in the story. I hope after chapter 178 and if I ever get to 278 that I am still moving readers emotionally.

A/N #2 – I cannot find that great pic I once saw of Kadar showing off his cut finger to a slightly mortified Malik. But I have this one of Sahar getting yelled at by Malik:

http:/ anime-junkie16 .deviantart .com/art/Go-Sweep-Out-the-Back-155336438


	245. Chapter 245: In Acre

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – I have not forgotten all of you waiting. Work swallowed me for a bit and may do so from time to time. Let us move right along to… Acre.

* * *

The scent of the sea crept from Acre, stinking of the foul sewers and of fish. The city came into view soon after.

Malik had ridden with his ever present shadow, trying not to be angry with the novice. Sahar, to her credit, has learned very swiftly to be as invisible as possible and helpful in the most discreet ways. Even when Malik struggled with frustration to mount and dismount his horse, Sahar hung back, only helping when snapped at to do so. In the quiet moments when they rested, she tried a few ways to mount one-handed to understand his situation and maybe find a solution. Watching her had inspired him. He watched, advised on techniques and quietly thanked her. Now he could mount and dismount without help, if he mounted on the opposite side of the slightly confused horse. His arm ached by the time they reached Acre from using muscles in new ways.

The instructions were simple. Find a way in, bring these items with you and do not get seen or caught. Also, find your way to the Bureau. Malik knew this would take a long while. Sahar was not familiar with Acre, though he had made her memorize a map. She was somewhat a novice, even if she was third rank. They all were to Malik, regardless of their rank.

She intercepted him in a dark alley. Malik almost yelled all demonic hell at her for this. She pointed to three Templars just across the road and swallowed his words. The smell was nauseating where they stood. To think that Altair started out in this place! How could anyone live with such filth? Malik tried not to cough or gag, at least till the Templars moved on.

At this point, he took the pack and satchel from Sahar. It would help him blend in better as a scholar here and allow Sahar to move to the Bureau more swiftly. She flitted to a roof and vanished from sight. Malik picked his way through slow routes to void further trouble. Sahar lurked in shadows and roof edges following her original orders, _be his left arm and protect him when he needs it as he moves about without a sword too much of the time_. She would be his blade in the shadows. She would protect him with her life if need be. It bothered her how he walked through this vile port city as though he were in Jerusalem and safe. She wished she had the right to chastise him and tell him to be more vigilant.

Movement out the corner of her eye caught her attention. She flattened herself to the roof and watched. Another assassin moved on another roof, following Malik. Sometimes he paused and drew a throwing knife then pushed it back into the sheath as he darted to try to get a better angle for his shot. Her eyes narrowed. She detoured from following Malik to intercept this traitor. Altair would never send someone against Malik. The two assassins came face to face around the stones of a fireplace. The world stilled into the seconds and space between them.

Oblivious, Malik walked on, shrinking from the rambling crazy men and disease-ridden beggars. It was an awkward climb and leap to the Bureau with another climb thankfully down a ladder to the Bureau roof. He rolled from belly to open space through the roof and hung to a rail with one hand till he was sure he could drop relatively safely, if not soundlessly. He was almost soundless. His smirk of inner pride flashed a moment in his features before he sipped from the fresh water of a fountain.

"Malik!" exclaimed the old dai in surprise.

"Safety and peace, brother. I have come with news, light and dark news." Malik greeted him with sharp charcoal eyes.

The older man's surprise faded as he coaxed Malik within to sit and eat. It was rare for a dai to leave his Bureau, but he recalled the last few correspondences from Malik and wondered what the final state of things could be. Were their suspicions correct? Was the rafiq in Damascus truly plotting treason? Could the Master actually be the seed of treachery? "Start with the dark news, my friend, for we should always end in the light."

A smile touched Malik's lips and he relaxed with some fresh water and fruit. "Yes, ending in the light is where I hope we will be, but we are not there yet. Al Mulaim betrayed us. He had enslaved all of Masyaf by the time I reached it. It has been many hard days to fix and undo what he has done. He is dead now, by the way. May he find his peace there with Allah."

"Oh, so the Eagle of Masyaf did slay the old man in the mountain? I had wondered, even hoped." Malik's nod confirmed his thoughts. "And so he now the Grand Master. That is well, he has grown much. Al Mualim set him on the right path despite how wrong it was. Have you… forgiven him." He gave Malik such a look of concern.

Malik nodded again, "How could I not now that I know the truth behind all that has happened? Yes, he is Grand Master now, but it will be a long road before he is truly comfortable with that role."

"We will of course help him in whatever way we can."

Glad for that sincere pledge, Malik pulled out the letter he had Altair sign stating the basic new rules and state of affairs. "I need to update your log book."

"And that is the new of the light!" He brought out his huge log book with a smile, watching Malik transcribe the notes he had in the Jerusalem log book.

"It is not wholly the light yet, understand. I am traveling to secure our allies within." They bent their heads for some time going over lists of people, skill ranks, missions, and resources. The truth of the darkness was that indeed, the rafiq of Damascus plotted against Altair, if not the whole Order. Malik collected the information he needed and relayed the rest.

The dai here offered to send some men with Malik on his journey to his next destination to secure the Bureau in Damascus. Sahar dropped in through the roof, robes stained in blood, yet uninjured. "I need no help. I already have an excellent shadow," she overheard Malik say with some pride. Their eyes met for a moment before she followed the routine he had taught her within a Bureau of washing, reporting, resupplying, and resting. They left in a few days after Malik had a full transcription of the most recent activities here and the news from informants of the state of affairs in the city and the port.

Damascus lay a fair ways north with a long ride yet ahead.

* * *

A/N #2 – What will Malik find in Damascus? What should he do about the rafiq there?


	246. Chapter 246: Letter to Altair

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Did the NaNoWriMo challenge, so please accept my apology for no activity through November.

* * *

Damascus lay a fair ways north with a long ride yet ahead. Malik reviewed in his mind the many bits of news from Acre and how it went to secure it with the adjustments of Altair as the new Grand Master and himself as his second. Those thoughts only lead him to wondering how Altair was holding up without him.

Altair felt grateful for Abbas and Rauf. Those two had been novices with him and Malik and while they all didn't always get along, needs of the Brotherhood always outweighed any animosity they might feel for each other. Rauf had long since healed from his broken leg and his eagerness brought waves of light and enthusiasm to every task anyone had to do, even for dour Abbas. Those two, along with a select few suggested by Malik, were instrumental in helping Altair correct the worst of the damage done in Masyaf, coordinating people and the many efforts and activities to re-secure the castle and the town.

Now there were very small moments of quiet. Altair stood on the balcony overlooking the gardens, the same ones he and Al Mualim fought in. The same ones Al Mualim died in. These moments found Altair floundering internally. As awful as Al Mualim's actions were upon Altair, he was the only father figure he remembered clearly. He could close his eyes and hear that voice teaching, guiding, chiding. He would open his eyes and expect to see Al Mualim walking in the garden. Or, he would remember the various women who mingled there. Each had skills in the arts, language, dance, sensuality. They knew the many roles of etiquette, conversation, drinks and poisons. They served many roles from being the rewards to those who had no wives, to training informants, to relieving the many stresses that arise. Now the garden was empty even of them. They had either all died or fled. Empty. The castle felt empty, even full now of those of the Brotherhood of Assassins, the Order. Altair closed his eyes again and imagined Malik glaring at his back. A corner of his mouth twitched up.

Abandoning the balcony once the sun set and plunged the garden into darkness, Altair sat among the cushions of the rooms he now claimed as his. That they looked so much like the rooms of the Jerusalem Bureau helped him feel comfortable in them. He rolled the Apple of Eden around the rug with a finger. _Tell me your secrets. Why are you here? Where did you come from? What are you? What do you do? How do you really work?_ No amount of staring unlocked its secrets. For a fleeting moment he had the urge to write his random and stray thoughts. But… his journal was in Jerusalem.

Rauf rapped briskly on the door, "Master! Master! A letter from Master Malik arrived in the aviary!"

Altair leapt to his feet almost forgetting the metal ball on the floor in his hurry. He swooped down with a hand and snatched it up, dropping it into a pouch on his belt before opening the door. Rauf held out the small note.

Upon reading it, Altair ordered someone to prepare provisions for him and a horse as he would be traveling to Jerusalem to meet Malik. At Rauf's concerned look, Altair added, "All is well, Brother. Malik carries good news. I wish to meet him to hear it myself as I will have to assign him to the Jerusalem Bureau for a few more weeks."

He re-read the coded message that he and Malik alone knew as it included a very select few Chinese characters.

_Jerusalem and Acre Bureaus are secure._

_Naheem marries Tibah (date)._

_You should be there for him._

The date was set to barely a week from now. Of course Altair would be there. This Altair, this new man redeemed and forgiven. This new man free of the chains that kept him apart from Malik. This new man who is Grand Master of the Order… and who just ordered Rauf without a second thought?

"Rauf!" Altair called from the upper floor to the man most of the way down the stairs. "Thank you!"

It was silly and almost childish to be yelling like novices in the great halls. Rauf laughed aloud with a swift wave before following his new orders.

* * *

A/N #2 – Sometimes… the news needs to just be good once in a while.


	247. Chapter 247: Malik Enters Damascus

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – As of today's date (December 18th, 2011), I have only played AC1 and have just barely sucked it up out of boredom and started playing AC2. I have not played anything else on any other system. How do I know so much about the game if I have not played? I read. I read a lot! I dig through websites, wiki's, Ubisoft, books on assassins and templars in that time in history, etc. I have deviated from some of the canon as is my prerogative as a fanfic writer. I have read Bowden's book and am trying to forget that I have. If only I can unsee what I have seen… Hope you all still enjoy my fic! Have a great set of winter holidays!

* * *

Damascus lay a fair ways north with a long ride yet ahead. Malik reviewed in his mind the many bits of news from Acre and how it went to secure it with the adjustments of Altair as the new Grand Master and himself as his second. Those thoughts only lead him to wondering how Altair was holding up without him.

The ride was hard for both Malik and Sahar. The war between King Richard's and Saladin's armies constantly forced Malik to take rough detours through goat trails in the hills. It slowed his charge to Damascus. It gave his mind time to plot and plan, though. He needed to arrive appearing to be ignorant of the treachery, yet still angry at the Rafiq's treatment of Altair. He also needed to be cautious. Brothers might be assigned to assassinate Brothers. Malik could find himself the new target in Damascus, a city far less familiar to him than Jerusalem. He didn't want to kill people misguided or misinformed who were simply following the orders of a corrupt man without ever realizing the truth of their actions and assignment.

Altair's lesson on the Creed from Al Mualim came to mind as the horses nervously picked their way along a narrow trail. _Nothing is True. Everything is Permitted._ Nothing is True. While he believed some things to be true, he had to accept that they were not True, not the one all-encompassing True thing for everyone. It was a reminder of subjectivity and being sensitive to the beliefs of others and cautious how to present your own, that you do not impose or enforce yours as the only way. Nothing is True. And yet, Everything is Permitted. Further pondering on this and Malik realized how this applied to the Creed as well. Everything is Permitted. Of course, people CAN do, as in are capable of doing, absolutely anything, even the assassins who have more skill and education than most. There would be no GOD to punish anyone. This is why humans had laws and rules to try to regulate the chaos of free choice. Everything is Permitted. Everyone is free to think, feel, and do as they please. The challenge comes in understanding moderation.

Malik vaguely recalled one of Altair's more coherent journal entries where Altair had made these same leaps of logic. Malik slammed his palm into his face almost startling the horse he rode with the sound. _And it took me THIS BLOODY LONG to figure it out! I should have figured this out ages ago! I would have understood so much more back then! AARRGGH! Altair and I would have been on different ground and so much might have been avoided through this understanding! He counted on me to know things before him and guide him from being totally stupid. _He groaned his annoyance with himself and swore he would strive to do better, especially with Altair named Grand Master of the order. Altair would need Malik to be at his very best for advising. There was no room for such errors now.

As they rode openly toward the gates of Damascus, Malik opened wide a map of the city while in his saddle. People yelled and soldiers cursed at him to look where he was going. They snarled insults about the stupid crippled scribe on the horse obviously lost. He mumbled out meek apologies, dramatically struggling with horse and map. He then made his way into the city with some other scholars deeply involved in their philosophical discussion. Sahar would follow from shadows and rooftops as Malik made his way to the Bureau.

Malik wondered how long it would take for Damascus informants or local members of the bureau to advise the Rafiq of Malik's arrival. For that matter, he wondered how long before a feather was handed to someone, a feather with his name on it.

Not long it seemed. His eyes flicked up at a flash of silver and the scream of a woman by a cart. A roof archer's body fell, breaking the cart. It was not a city guard, but someone unmarked, probably one of the Rafiq's. Sahar was deep on roof fights. Sahar soon dashed swift like a cat across roofs following Malik and keeping him from harm, being the sword he could not afford to be right now. He deeply missed having his left arm with the hidden blade at the moment. He missed it more when he turned a corner to the too-familiar white robes and red sash.

* * *

A/N #2 – I know this is a short chapter, but I wanted to get something out to all of you. Lots of little chapters to come! I promise!

A/N #3 – For memory's sake… here are some great pictures for previous chapters.

Grumpy Altair after being patched up by Malik: http:/ uccan .deviantart .com/art/Patched-up-266412500

Malik snoozing after reading (Altair watching): http:/ slouph .deviantart .com/art/AC-Malik-Snooze-271164258

Moment of forgiveness: http:/ lazy-afternoons .deviantart .com/art/Start-again-261705487

Same moment, different artist: http:/ k4nspachi .deviantart .com/art/Silence-in-Your-Eyes-261390111

Malik in Jerusalem… waiting…: http:/ tervola .deviantart .com/art/Malik-215758182

A time when Altair was a mess, an in that mess fought Malik and does not remember: http:/ arithusa .deviantart .com/art/Accountability-212632955

Malik: King of Swords: http:/ suppiechan .deviantart .com/art/Commission-Malik-Al-Sayf-259998810

Malik treating Altair's wounds… again: http:/ domirine .deviantart .com/art/woundzzzz-217137634

A/N #4 - And really there is so very much more. Check out the faved collection I have! http:/ scarletcougar .deviantart .com/favourites/39851413


	248. Chapter 248: Altair Returns to Jerusalem

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Holiday writing. Happy Holidays everyone.

* * *

Malik deeply missed having his left arm with the hidden blade at the moment. He missed it more when he turned a corner to the too-familiar white robes and red sash.

Meanwhile, white robed fluttered in the wind that rushed by as the horse galloped. Altair pushed the horse daily and loved the feeling of flying as he rode. It would simply have been better if he had not charged off right after eating. _Stupid novice! You know you get sick every time you ride right after eating._ Malik's words reminded him as much as the growing nausea in his belly. He hoped to have made better time on the first day, but his foolish excitement necessitated taking a longer break.

In the cooler evening, Altair walked the horse. The quiet out on the rocky terrain inspired him to dream as he rode. He looked up to see the stars recalling long silent rides he took early in his life as an assassin with Malik at his side, riding under the stars. The light feeling of that faded as he remembered pushing Malik away with arrogant words and actions till his best friend cursed him to be struck down by the very stars before tearing off alone. _Promise me Malik. I promise, I will never leave you._ Boyhood promises. Altair's heart sank, his head dipping down and he drifted in melancholic sleep.

The sway and thud of the horse was not so different from the sway of a ship and thud of the drum for rowers. _His head long chase after Adha. "Did you love Adha?" Malik had asked. "No… maybe…" They had sat hidden in hay while she taught him things about herself and about himself, like magic, to see the auras of others. He no longer felt so alone in his strangeness. There she was, someone like him. Then she was gone, stolen away by none other than Robert de Sable. She did not tell that Templar where the secret treasure was either. But in a way, in his vile way, he found out. And if he could have keep the Chalice then no one could. Altair was too late. He cried out for her, bound and bleeding out on the shore. He was helpless before Robert who relished the young man's anguish. "I will not kill you today. Today, I want you to look, look well boy. This is my power. I can take out of this world a treasure. You are nothing… nothing to no one." Robert left too. Altair could do nothing as he knelt in her blood in the murky waters. He had failed Al Mualim. He had failed Adha. He had failed. And he held that secret to his heart keeping it even from Al Mualim. Such a dark secret. It poisoned him into foolish action the next time he saw Robert. _

The horse snorted and side-stepped, jostling Altair from his sleep. The path had simply changed more southward. There was no danger in this dark. Altair pressed his hand to his face. It came away wet and he gazed at the dampness on his leather glove. _I suppose that maybe I did love her after all. I shall never love another woman again._ He gritted his teeth a shook his head. Then he kicked the horse into a trot, letting the wind dry his tears and thoughts of Jerusalem and Malik and Naheem draw scraps of hope and affection from the corners of his heart.

Altair wished he could run away from all the horrors that plagued him and jump the next log into another time… another world.

Jerusalem approached swiftly. Altair slipped from the saddle and stepped into place among some priests as they murmured their prayers, heads bowed, pacing steadily past the gate guards into the city. He faded from them and lighted onto a roof, hand over hand up a tower. The eagle there took offense but flew off with a cry. He crouched a long while there watching the sun rise. Jerusalem felt more like home sometimes because of Malik… because of so much that happened here that happened nowhere else. He found himself here. He found meaning, and friendship, and trust. He found family and brotherhood. He found peace… in this Holy City. _Nothing is true. "But Altair, some things are true, like how I feel about you." Everything is permitted. "Some things should not be permitted, Altair." _He stood; spread his arms allowing the wind to whip at his robed. The drop was surrender, was flight, and was a fall… with a soft landing. Altair brushed the hay from his robes and picked it out from between bits of armor. Nothing seemed to have changed in Jerusalem. It smelled the same. It looked the same. Guards were still annoying and corrupt. Monks and religious men of different faiths, Christian and Muslim and Jewish, roamed the streets as they made their way to the early morning services of their various sacred churches and temples. Did anyone care about the buried temple of Solomon? Not likely. It was mostly bare and abandoned and already picked clean even of the bones. And that which was not was too buried to discover, if there was more to it at all.

He climbed a building and dashed like a cat across of beam of wood. Someone else was on the roof of the Bureau. He narrowed his eyes and crept like a ghost behind the intruder.

"AH!" SLASH-SLASH-SLASH! THUD.

Junayd's small blade skittered across the roof as he hit the surface hard on his ass. A tall shadow fell across his form. It was a valiant effort to slash at his attacker but not enough. Every muscle tensed ready for a run to draw the man away from the Bureau. He stood slowly, cautiously. A hand thumped him back to the ground hard.

"Never yell. It gives you away and you waste the energy in that yell that could be directed better. Didn't Malik teach you that?"

Confusion skipped to shame then to recognition. Junayd found his feet and launched himself. "ALTAIR!"

Altair was not prepared himself for the sudden and fierce hug from the boy who had grown several inches since he last saw him. The green scarf still reflected in his eyes and his grin melted Altair yet again. Who needed a magic ball when you had a boy's grin like that? He brusquely shoved the boy over to the lattice where he pleaded to be lowered down like he used to be. Altair found himself complying silently.

"Naheem! Master Altair is here! And you are going to be late!"

Within the Bureau a crash and a strange SSSHHHHH noise followed by some of the first lame curses Altair had ever heard from Naheem. Rice emptied from the huge bag that fell from his grip from the upper ledge to spill across the entire floor of the Bureau. Altair stepped in swiftly and caught Naheem before he too impacted with the edge of the counter as the rice sack had. They just stared at each other a long time. Altair hugged him first and Naheem knew things would be well with everyone. "It is good to see you. Malik is not back yet… Why? Why have you come?"

"I got word that you are getting married and that I should be here." Altair stepped back wrinkling his brow at the crunching of his feet over the rice. He watched Naheem sigh at the mess but smile with his dimples till the smile turned too goofy and excited to care about the mess.

"Naheem!" Junayd hollered again. "You are late! We'll clean it up. I can miss one day of Sunday prayers. Go… hurry!"

There was an apologetic look from Naheem who clearly wanted news and to talk with Altair so very badly, but time was too short. "I… I…"

"Go. I will be there and we can talk after."

Naheem grabbed up his bag and cane by the door and left. He poked back, "Thank you for coming. It means a great deal to me." Then he closed and locked the door.

Altair did not miss the heavy limp with every step young Naheem took. The leg might have healed, but it had not gotten any better as he had hoped. He looked down then back up at Junayd. They both sighed almost identical sighs and cleaned up the rice together.

Junayd babbled about the ceremony and how Naheem would be spending the next several nights with the men of the family learning about the family and them of him and doing… man things… things Junayd wasn't able to gather information on. "YET! I am thinking of spying on them to find out. And you know, just to make sure Naheem's fine. Someone has to take care of him, you know!"

Altair smothered his amusement and encouraged the boy to show him what he had learned so far. They sparred together for about an hour after the rice was repacked. Once Junayd climbed out with better dexterity than earning a nod of approval from Altair, he looked around the Bureau, standing there alone not knowing when Malik would return. It felt like old times earlier that year. He waited for his heart to slow its pounding and to remind himself that Malik had forgiven him, that they had slept in the same bed willingly, and that their lips had met. He licked his lips and prayed that was not all just a dream.

Some old habits die hard. Altair explored the Bureau.

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A/N #2 – Death of Adha- http: /sunsetagain .deviantart .com /art/death-of-Adha-256514828


	249. Chapter 249: Malik's Kill

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Not forgotten. Sorry for how long this took. It is the issue with fight scenes. They are just… so… hard to write! Even when I manage to convince the husband to be a practice dummy and help me choreograph moves. I am sure he thinks I am a little or a lot crazy. He also "killed" me a dozen times in the choreography. Poor Malik! I think I got it now and Malik may yet survive…

* * *

Malik deeply missed having his left arm with the hidden blade at the moment. He missed it more when he turned a corner to the too-familiar white robes and red sash.

Moments slowed with each breath. The very dust floating in the air stilled.

"Safety and peace, brother," Malik spoke steadily, his eyes never leaving those of the assassin before him.

The space was small between these buildings, not unlike in the bureau. Actually, no, the bureau was roomier. The king of swords would not really be able to swing a decent sword here; maybe the smaller swords that assassins start off with, one like this assassin wore on his belt. A moving shadow above betrayed that another assassin was closed in. The more familiar second shadow reminded Malik of his assigned protection, not that he thought he needed any… except for maybe at this moment.

It had been a long time since Malik had felt this sort of imminent danger. Sometimes the world slows down. Sometimes it speeds faster than you can think through. And sometimes, like now, a thousand small random thoughts fly through your head in a matter of seconds. It is like your life flashing before your eyes, but never your whole life… just your reasons for living.

_His hand trapped Altair's over a feather._

_Staring into golden eyes as he pushed back a white hood._

_The now recognized as shy stagger in the doorway of the eagle uncertain of his welcome._

_The pang of worry while stitching a bleeding man, friend, with only his one hand._

_The invasion of touch and shameful arousal after a bath._

_Pleading for Altair to live while he bled and fought trying to claim his own life._

_Sun dappling a secret and empty room, opening his eyes to a gentle and hopeful kiss._

_Hot and fierce kissing, pressing Altair up against the bookshelves on the second floor._

_Altair…_

Malik's hand gripped his knife more firmly, ready to draw it if he had to.

"Go back to Jerusalem, Dai. Your presence here is neither needed nor welcomed." The young man stated flatly but firmly, despite being only a second rank assassin facing a Dai who was once almost a master.

Malik humphed. "As I understand it, my presence is much overdue. It is very very needed for the news that I-"

The assassin lunged with his left foot thudding forward. His left arm thrust towards Malik's face. The hidden blade jumped the extra deadly few inches needed to draw blood. Malik by instinct stepped back and to his own left with his right foot. Twisting his body, avoiding the blade, barely. A thin line stung on his cheekbone and blood rose and flowed down his cheek.

Malik's knife was needed after all. It was drawn, point towards his elbow. In an effort to block the hidden blade with his one arm, which failed, he dragged it on the inside of the assassin's left elbow, just above the protective leather of the hidden blade and its bracer. Blood soaked the man's sleeve. He recoiled and grabbed for his short sword.

Malik could not allow it to be drawn. He would not be able to defend against it well enough to survive. He could turn and run, but he knew a true assassin would run him down and finish him. This one would. He would in his place. His only option was to fight. He took a risk, shifting his weight back onto his right foot, he stepped in with his right, stepping closer, turning, his body becoming a shield. He gritted and bared his teeth as he hit the assassin's sword arm with the end of his stump, preventing the drawing of the sword. However, now he has so many exposed and vulnerable openings. He prayed his blade had bit deep enough into that elbow. Otherwise, he would die by it unable to block.

The left hand and arm were a useless bloody mess, so he swept Malik's left foot out. Malik rebalanced to his right, forcing a further turn. He prepared to take the opening, to pull sword and slice open Malik's middle. Malik slammed his elbow down on the muscle joining shoulder to neck. The assassin's fingers fumbled and tingled. He stepped back, but not far enough. That knife that pointed back along Malik's arm to the elbow, crashed down as Malik attempted to slam his elbow down a second time. The blade sunk hard through flesh, splitting bones.

Malik swung away quickly, pulling his knife free and dodging the spray of blood. He turns back around, flipping the knife with great dexterity in practiced fingers so it pointed forward. As his spin brought him facing his opponent once again, knife dove into throat smoothly, with no resistance.

He wished he had two arms to catch the falling man. He could only kneel as the life was fading. "You fought well. Safety and peace on your journey, brother," whispered Malik holding the man's eyes with his own till the light of life was gone from them. Then he pulled his knife free and cleaned it.

A body dropped from a roof nearby. Malik almost jumped and found himself sighing with relief that the body was not that of Sahar, not that he was admitting, even to himself, that he was beginning to like or appreciate his shadow. He stood sheathing his knife. "What took you so long? I have one arm and I still killed mine in half the time!"

Sahar pursed her lips tightly and glared back at Malik as if she wanted to say several sharp words at him.

Malik tried not to make the smile to himself too visible. Damn Altair for inspiring him to like and value these novices in his life.

_My reason to live… _Altair…

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A/N #2 – I really wish I was good at drawing people. A comic strip of this chapter would be so cool!


	250. Chapter 250: Altair: Old Habits

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – I know many days/weeks have passed. I rarely give up on a story. Although, I live a very very busy adult life that sometimes does not leave me time to get even 4 hours sleep.

* * *

Some old habits die hard. Altair explored the Bureau.

The chess set was still set up minus the black bishop and the white knight. He wondered about the knight piece. Would Malik be that weird and sentimental? Altair doubted it. The Bureau was supposed to be mostly Naheem's though Malik would need to complete Naheem's training as a Rafiq. Nothing seemed to have changed inside the open-roofed room. He flopped on the cushions just to be sure. A nap stole him before he knew it.

When he opened his eyes, the sun had moved. He sighed and got up. At least he felt relieved from the nap, rested. This place, this Bureau, felt like home. He felt comfortable enough here to sleep. He still managed to crunch some bits of rice on the floor and frowned that they missed some in the cleanup. On a table were several maps, scrolls, and sketches. More sketches than anything else. He looked through them all before moving to the gate to explore behind the counter.

This area had also not changed. The incense pot was in the very same place and smelled still of the sweetness of orris and whatever else Malik made his mix with. However it was cool, unused for days. The record books and boxes for feathers were all in the same places. The feather box was unlocked, so he opened it. He would have to chastise Naheem for leaving it unlocked. The box was empty. Oh…. That would explain it being unlocked. There was nothing to hide. Altair quietly vowed to get some feathers for Naheem, knowing there would be no way the teen would be able to get to those eagle nests with that bad leg.

The curtain to the back, that had changed. It used to look like a wall, convincingly enough to be believed. Now it was something more decorative. Altair figured it was some influence of Tibah. Girls did that sort of thing, didn't they? He wondered if the Bureau would fill with ribbons and potted flowers. And that is precisely one of the reasons Altair preferred men to women. Not that fancy veils and beads were bad… just… impractical. He ran his hand along the spines of book he knew were Malik's on the shelves behind the counter.

Pushing aside the curtain, he stepped into the back. It was the most jarring experience. This room had changed so drastically, he thought he was in the wrong place and stepped out a moment before stepping back in. Having hallucinated because of things Al Mulaim did with that ball, Altair had to be sure it was not influencing him now. There was only one bed mat on the floor with clean linens on it and a low table beside it with a lamp. The shelf that sometimes blocked the kitchen was moved into the place where Altair had so often had a bed mat for himself. The desk and shelf at the back of the room were plain gone. There was just a curtain, like the one he already passed through.

He resisted his curious urge to continue his exploration of the familiar places. The tiny kitchen was thankfully the same. He made use of the little privy and later found some food and water. With a mouth full of dates, he climbed the stairs to the next floor. It no longer looked like a storage room per se. Naheem had obviously been busy. There another med here. The storage area had been seriously cleaned and reorganized. The spare shelf had made its way up here somehow and was not holding a great many extra pots of ink, scrolls of paper, and other supplies for Naheem's trade as map maker and scroll creator. The spare food and blankets was also up here. The roof access was still locked, but Altair knew how to get out. Crates up there on the roof had been moved closer to the door and showed that they had been opened and explored.

Now that he felt he knew the usual places, it was time to creep into the unknown. In the back room, he still felt off to not have the usual Malik feel there. It made him uncomfortable. More so, the room did not look like it was lived in much, like the bed seemed rarely used. The one upstairs too seemed hardly used. He carefully moved the back curtain aside and stepped through into a huge room. This must be the other building that the Bureau was attached to. Small windows near the ceiling let light in. There was the desk and a table and more shelves. All were empty. Some empty bed mats were rolled up against a wall. There was a side room with a set of stairs up. The side room smelled of Naheem and held a trunk with a chaos of clothing spilling from it and the bed not made. This must be where Naheem had relocated for sleeping. The stairs led to a roof access and a second floor that was also empty. Altair wondered why he had never noticed this, wondered why Malik had never mentioned it. Did Malik even know about it? That was a laughable thought. Malik knew everything.

Altair wondered what Naheem's plans were with these new spaces.

He also wondered what Naheem was actually up to for this wedding and thought that perhaps Junayd had the right idea. He moved a pawn on the chess board just for old times' sake. If Naheem didn't know how to play, at least Malik would be back at some point before the wedding. Then he left the Bureau telling himself he was just going to get some feathers.

Naheem had to adjust the heavy bag on his back several times as he made his way to Tibah's family estate. His leg ached fiercely under the weight causing him to lean more on his cane. He hoped everything would be alright at the Bureau. He hated leaving Altair who had just arrived. He worried Junayd would get into trouble if he was not there to keep an eye. He tried really really hard to not worry about Malik out in the other cities, delivering the news about the changes in the Order. He hoped desperately that Malik would make it back in time. These nerves made his stomach wibble. He trusted that Malik had made all the arrangements that a father would. There were parts of this ceremony Naheem had no idea about.

He knocked on the door and was greeted by one of Tibah's older brothers. A servant took the heavy bag and Naheem was shown to a room that would be his for the next few days. And the next few days became a blur of events. Tibah had so many brothers. He had to sit and speak with them all. He spent time with Tibah's father and the male friends of the family. They told of the histories of the family trade, of the expectations and responsibilities of being a husband in this family. The warning of if he did not care properly for Tibah. It was all very interesting and slightly intimidating. Each night an Imam came and read from the Qur'an. They then discussed religious matters. Naheem was grateful now for the lessons Malik had thrust upon him. It allowed him to hold his own in these manly debates.

He only regretted that Malik was not here with him, but it could not be helped. Malik had duties elsewhere.

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A/N #2 – Here are some great pics for earlier chapters

TEEN ASSASSINS STUFF

http:/ uccan. deviantart. com/art/AltMal-request-Teens-286140054

http:/ mikulance382. deviantart. com/art/Novice-Training-292904858

COMMISSIONED

http:/ mirrorandimage. deviantart. com/art/Commiss-Feel-the-Wind-279133391


	251. Chapter 251: Malik and Sahar

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Hard secrets abound…

* * *

Naheem only regretted that Malik was not here with him, but it could not be helped. Malik had duties elsewhere. And as these days with the men went on, Naheem came to realize that Tibah didn't really have many brothers at all. There was just Kadar, in love with someone who would never bear a child to carry on the family name. All these men were… brothers-in-law. He felt a little alone here with no father or uncle of his own. His mind wandered often to Malik and the mission Malik was on.

Malik met with an informant that the dai of Acre assured him was loyal and thus was hidden for a day to rest and eat with Sahar. It is from this informant that he learned much of the disturbing truth about the rafiq and the Bureau of Damascus. Knowing what Malik knew of Al Mualim, he could not fault the Damascus rafiq for some of his decisions. However, the methods of his slow betrayal and the news of his actions, including those against Altair, solidified his decision.

In the morning over breakfast, Malik spread out a map of the Bureau's district. Altair might rush in and manage to come out alive… cut gashed and bleeding… but alive. Malik preferred more knowledge, planning and stealth. He preferred quiet and clean. It was one of the changes he hoped to inspire Altair to change in the order. No more public, messy, and loud kills. They were costly and exposed the Order to dangers. _And it down right broke the third part of the Creed which was never to compromise the brotherhood!_ Malik sought an analogy for this defection. Lion? No… that implied the rafiq sided with Richard of England or worse, the Templars. Wolf? No… Malik knew better. Many feared the wolf and the stories that come with wolves, but wolves were well organized packs and fiercely loyal. Dragon? Also no… Dragons were large dangerous creatures of the far east and west. This ragiq, decided Malik, was a cur, wild dog that bites its master without really understanding why. It was the kind of animal that was likely rabid and needed to be put down. Thus they planned. Long and careful through a second day, gathering information and learning of the numbers and loyalties of others to this cur. Thus they plotted a time to cut down the lead dog and remind the rest that they swore to a Brotherhood. And if they intended to walk away, there would be nothing but blood upon them, theirs.

They were to set out in the night. Sahar would run on the rooftops, a few loyal men to head off or distract city nightwatch, and an informant to whistle warning of coming Templars. Malik needed to get into the Bureau directly. It was a long time since he climbed and ran through a city with a sword and a feather. Sahar climbed a tower just to get him that feather. It earned a wry grin from Malik. They would strike mid-morning once everyone was in place. Malik and Sahar now stood upon the roof of the Bureau. She was to ensure no one entered… no matter what not till she was sure none were coming or all were dead.

They waited in the cool predawn as the sun rose to warm the roof tops. Malik thought of Altair in Masyaf, who should be almost done with the preliminary establishments of order in the city. He hoped Altair got the message bird he sent about Naheem's wedding. Naheem should be just readying to go to the men's sit-in before the wedding. Malik sighed. _I should be there with him._ But this mission was paramount. The Bureaus needed to be updated and secured. And while he was not going to advocate revenge, he did advocate vengeance and was glad he would be the one to meet it out today. If this went smoothly, then he could be done and back to Jerusalem in time to join the men's week with Naheem.

An archer went down two roofs away. His crumpling startled two other assassins of only rank three who looked at each other from other roofs wondering how did it. Realizing that neither hit that archer, they left to investigate. Sahar tapped Malik's shoulder and he nodded.

It was time.

They peered cautiously through the lattice of the roof and rolled away swiftly as an assassin took flight through the opening to be stabbed through the throat by Sahar. Malik rolled to his feet and hopped onto the lattice, grabbing the edge with his hand, and dropping to hang a moment before softly landing on the carpets on his feet.

"Safety and peace, Rafiq." Malik's charcoal eyes met the dark brown ones of the tall rafiq.

The rafiq's eyes widened in surprise, "Malik!" The pause that followed gave away his shock to see Malik actually still alive. "Ah! Malik! Welcome! Safety and peace to you as well. You really should not have left Jerusalem." He had almost sounded like he recovered from his surprise with his jovial greeting. However, his words ended with a hard hint of malice.

"A great many things have changed and I have been sent by the Grand Master to personally update all the log books. Though I found such a strange and disturbing welcome when I entered the city. One of our Brothers tried to attack me. Actually, more than one."

"Tried?" he wanted to ask what happened to them, but the very impossible must have. Malik, this cripple before him, must have been skilled enough to take them out. "I presume they are dead then." Not a question, but a statement of fact as he opened his log and noted the failed missions. His eyes flitting up at Malik often as he wrote, watching Malik carefully maneuver into the main room. "I wonder how someone like you could have managed that." The growing noise of scuffling on the roof made him smile. "But now I know."

He threw a knife at Malik. Malik lurked out of the way. The rafiq vaulted the counter with his long legs, a sword already in hand, sure of the incapability of this crippled assassin before him. Malik drew his own shorter blade but was knocked to the floor by the flat of the heavier longer blade. He rolled away from his sword, ready. The rafiq laughed, then lunged. Malik knew too well how to fight in cramped places like this. He grabbed a large thick glass vase to deflect the oncoming sword and sidestepped the first of two swings. The rafiq's taunting banter was so annoying. Malik wished the man would just shut up while he fought. The second swing shattered the vase. Shards flew into Malik's face cutting his cheek. Malik pivoted sharply on his foot and thrush the jagged edge into the rafiq's chest, throwing his weight into it till he heard the tip of the sword touch the ground and the words choke in the man's throat. Holding the broken vase in place chest to chest, Malik plucked the sword from the rafiq's fingers. "Now, shut the hell up, you novice." He jabbed the sword through the vase opening, angled up and through the unarmoured rafiq.

An impact that squelched on the pillows alerted Malik to someone else, someone not Sahar landed shortly after. Malik knew it was not Sahar because Sahar was small and light. This was the landing on an injured man, but one still strong enough to keep fighting. He bounced back on the balls of his feet and pressed himself to the edge of the wall beside the entrance. Just the bloody end of a blade appeared in the opening. Malik resisted the urge to strike. He silently raised the sword parallel to the floor at shoulder height, adjusting to chin height as he saw the shadow of the man and knew him to be taller than himself, blade pointing to the opening. The assassin would have to enter more to know the fate of the rafiq. Malik waited.

Suddenly the assassin stumbled into the room, blade swinging wide away from Malik while his other hand reached for the knife in his back. Like a serpent, the king of swords struck. The sword skewered the assassin in the throat for a second and was yanked out again.

"Sahar. Are there more?" His eyes fell on his shadow, bloodied and wounded, having held her own against better trained men. Sahar shook her head before collapsing again. "Sahar!"

"Master Malik!" called the informant from the roof as Malik was struggling to get Sahar under his shoulder to drag her into the back of the Bureau for medical treatment. Whatever the man was about to say, he swallowed it back and chose other words. "The city is secure. I'll clean up and come help you."

Malik dragged Sahar into the back and onto the raised bed that was once this Bureau's rafiq's bed. A gagged and naked boy was tied by the hand to a metal towel ring by the fountain in the back. Instant thoughts of what Al Mualim had done to Altair filled Malik's mind and he wished he could kill the rafiq all over again. The boy tried to put as much distance between himself and Malik, eyes wide at the sight of the bloody person in the bed across the way. "Easy boy. I have freed this building of its former master. Do you have family in this city here?" The boy shook his head as Malik approached and undid the bindings freeing the boy. "Help me with my wounded friend and I will make better arrangements for you." The boy nodded.

Malik pointed to a trunk he knew had supplies and directed the boy to wash first and then dress in whatever fits him. The extra pair of small hands made stripping Sahar of the assassin robes much faster. For a moment, for several moments, Malik stared in shock at the bleeding form on the bed.

Sahar was… a woman.

The terrible scars across the chest were brutal evidence of the lengths she took to stay hidden in the brotherhood and by Kadar's side. But she was clearly a woman in every other way once naked before Malik. A hundred questions popped up but he had to shove them aside. Sahar fought well, better than well, but not well enough. The medical supplies here were remedial at best. Sahar bled faster than Malik could stitch. She grabbed his hand at some point and their eyes met for agonizing seconds. She shook her head. "Sahar…" She shook her head again at him. Then her eyes looked past him and searched something beyond the room, beyond reality. A small smile touched the corners of her mouth as her last breath left her. Malik's shoulders sagged. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "Go with your god, Sahar," whispered Malik as he closed Sahar's eyes with his blood covered hand.

"Was she your wife?" asked the boy. He must have seen so many terrible things in his young age to not be disturbed by any of the dead in the rooms.

"No," the words came out exhausted and thick, "She was… my little brother's. She's now gone to be with him."

"Where should I go, now?"

The boy kept calling him back to the urgency of things that needed attention. All he wanted was to mourn, but there was no time. The informant showed up in the doorway, "No traces are… I am sorry for the loss of another of our own."

Malik merely nodded, "clear this too and then… then take this boy for training with you. I appoint you to this bureau until I can send someone to officially be rafiq." Malik stood and mechanically washed and changed into clean clothing. He returned to the main room and the opened log book. He marked a heavy line on the page and wrote into it the news of the changes to the Order of their Brotherhood. He reviewed the last few pages and concluded that what he did was completely inadequate. Everything felt inadequate. It was over so suddenly. She died so swiftly. He had so many questions. He never got to know her, this last link to his baby brother. He slammed shut the log book and pitched the heavy tome across the room.

The boy, looking now like a very small novice, carried the tome back. "There are others if you don't want this one."

"I do want this one, but I will take it with me when I leave. Can you please bring me a new one?" He watched the boy disappear into the back and struggle with another tome. Into it he wrote what befell this bureau and then his news all over again. "You were very strong to carry that heavy book, boy. When I send people here to run this Bureau, one of them will bring you back to my home in Masyaf. We will teach you to read and write and fight. You will be slave to no man." He knew he offered the right thing to this boy for hope and joy filled the boy's expression. It was the one good thing for this black day.

The next day is spent making sure the informant can handle the Bureau only to realize the informant was an assisting rafiq till this one ousted him. Malik thanked Allah! The informant even reassured Malik that the very first assassin who comes in will get assigned the duty of escorting the boy to Masyaf for training.

Damascus will be a challenge to reorganize, but the new rafiq seems up to it. Malik brings the book wrapped tightly and buried in a small trunk of clothing and new inks and with trade papers for a cart to Jerusalem. He has delivered all his maps and now must return to his map making place of business. He even managed to procure a wedding gift for nephew's wedding. His gift to the bride having already been offered. He groans at how he will manage to follow through teaching her medicine.

He stops at a hut with his belongings. The cart continues on. It is one of the many safehouses on the road that belong to the Brotherhood. Malik gets help with the trunk and horses and a new escort that he chooses himself, already missing the silent Sahar.

* * *

A/N #2 – sorry… I know some of you hoped to see more of Sahar. But she was always fated to die as per the original person's OC plan. I kept some of her actual story. Here are some links to the artist's OC, Sahar:

http:/ anime-junkie16 .deviantart .com/art/Young-Sahar-155403603

http:/ anime-junkie16 .deviantart .com/art/Your-Left-Arm-149278973

http:/ anime-junkie16 .deviantart .com/art/Go-Sweep-Out-the-Back-155336438

http:/ anime-junkie16 .deviantart .com/art/Scars-and-Sacrifice-149394483


	252. Chapter 252: Altair and Malik's Journal

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Last chapter was unusually long. Please don't expect that to be the norm. I prefer to keep them shorter and digestible.

* * *

Malik stopped at a hut with his belongings. The cart continued on. It was one of the many safehouses on the road that belong to the Brotherhood. Malik got help with the trunk and horses and chose a new escort, already missing the silent Sahar.

Altair had perused every crevice of the Bureau by the end of the day, possible several times over. He stocked the trunk with little throwing knives and collected a pile of eagle feathers for the feather box. He even flipped through the big log book, smiling at the entry Malik put in for Naheem and the entries that Naheem had started to add as the new rafiq. He found in his searching a large sketchbook that he recognized as Naheem's. Looking through the memories of Naheem's life through pictures took slow quiet hours in the night. He lingered over the pictures of Malik, or those of him with Malik he never knew Naheem had seen. He lingered most over the scene of him and his son. He almost removed that picture to keep for himself, but didn't. He wondered much about how his son was, where he was, and what news Malik might have of him. "I will ask Malik when I see him next."

In the morning, he lifted the floor stone he knew hid his collection of journals and took out the pale soft covered one Malik had gifted to him. Then he paused, underneath it was a journal he did not recognize. He set his own aside and lifted out this foreign journal. Turning the pages slowly he recognized it now.

_Malik's._

Every page has little bits of map sketches in random places on a page. Around the map sketches were scraps of various phrases from religious texts that Malik found particularly interesting. " Lift the stone and I am there…" It was one of the collection of phrases Altair knew Malik liked. It came from the Gospel of Thomas. How he remembered that, he had no clue. It was slow to read, but his reading and writing had improved a great deal with the practicing Malik had encouraged. He turned a page to a sketch of himself as a teen. The picture is soft and simple, not nearly as detailed as Naheem's, and seemed like a secretly captured moment. He flipped through the book swiftly to see if there were more. Kadar featured often, which was expected. But so did he himself.

And there on some of those pages, in Malik's very neat script, were confessions of his personal confusion about his interests and about sexuality, confessions of his feelings and fear about how to actually handle them. Despite how confident Malik had always seemed in their play, the sexual playing was always viewed as medical learning or simply as play. Altair had never expected that Malik had true feelings for him way back then. Even that one moment where Altair had so gently penetrated Malik in their secret alcove, that moment too was recorded in almost poetic language.

It hurt to read on to discover the growing anger and frustration, the pain of abandonment and sense of rejection that Malik felt. Worse still was to read the fury, pain and loss captured in such detail in words of Kadar's death and then Altair's apparent betrayal. He snapped the book shut. Unable to face it all over again, unable to deal with the raw emotions Malik threw into this private journal.

"Altair?" Malik asked curiously while leaning in the doorway of the back room, still dusty from his journey.

* * *

A/N #2 – I know it is short… but sometimes… it must be.


	253. Chapter 253: Malik: History's Wall

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Last chapter was unusually short, but needed to be so. Sorry for the cliff-hanger. I just love them so.

* * *

Three days felt like both too much and not enough time to process what happened in Damascus. There was pride that he could still make a kill. He now had a few under his belt since the loss of his arm, though Nina's death might not have been his own kill directly, it was close enough. The Damascus rafiq was personal. The awkward challenge of changing things over and leaving things slightly unfinished now in a second district was like a bur under the saddle. He hated unfinished business. Losing an assassin while he treated said assassin medically was such a rarity that Malik still seemed stunned. Maybe because it was Sahar. Maybe it was because Sahar was actually a woman. Maybe because she was Kadar's lover. Maybe it was because Altair knew all this beforehand.

If his thoughts were a mouse, then his mind was the trap box. He kicked the horse into a run just because the inability to think through his feelings logically pissed him off. When he and his temporary shadow and both horses were exhausted and had to rest, Malik gave in to his frantic thoughts. He drew out his sword and moved slowly through the training motions he knew so by heart he need not think about them, need not think at all really, and just be. It helped him find a measure of calm so he could better dissect the experiences and how he wanted to deal with them.

_I can still kill. I knew that from the fight into Masyaf. But this was different. I was the one hunted. I was the one whose name was attached to a feather. This was different. I also had a feather with a name on it._

Malik opened up the log book he was carting inside the trunk and slipped in the feather with the details of his personal mission to end the rafiq of Damascus and why.

_If he were being a traitor and defecting solely because he disagreed with our Order is one thing, but to openly neglect assassins allowing them to suffer and perhaps even die is not acceptable._

He avoided how personal it actually was since the rafiq had targeted Altair and then even himself.

These were the thoughts that were easy to dissect. From there he skipped over the complicated thoughts and emotions about Sahar and focused instead on the Bureau itself. Unfinished business, like the Bureau in Jerusalem. Naheem was only partly trained. He had to arrange the remainder of the training for one in such a role and be sure Naheem was up to a chosen standard, though after the wedding where he would have to thus also be sure Tibah, too, had training. And speaking of Tibah… _I am sworn to train her as a healer for a Bureau. It was the dowry present I paid for her._ The trustworthy informant he left in Damascus had rafiq training and some Bureau training having been an apprentice for several months in Acre's Bureau many years ago and then returned to being an informant in Damascus under cover. This informant was likely as trained (or rather lacked as much training) as Naheem. All he could do right now was hope that Altair saved enough people from the brainwashing of Al Mualim and thus found some people suitable for the position of Rafiq or Dai. Malik would need to be sure someone fully trained spent some time training the apprentice there. Malik had to commit to train Naheem and Tibah.

These were the thoughts Malik actually really enjoyed. They were full of planning and problem-solving. And by far the easiest was to assign someone to bring the young boy from Damascus to Masyaf for training. Malik made mental note that Junayd should also be brought back to Masyaf. Maybe those two boys could end up partners as he and Altair were. He made formal notes of this before he slept, still dodging the painful and confusing memories surrounding Sahar.

The whole of the second day, Malik was filled with his thoughts of planning activities and how to discuss these with Altair and what questions to ask Altair to help them both secure these Bureaus and maybe set up several others.

Naheem. Thoughts of Naheem drew a smile out of Malik, the first in many days. The wedding should be in the various preliminary processes. Before he left Jerusalem on his missions, Malik had to find an Imam to approve and oversee the wedding. Tibah's father and Malik met with him for prayers in agreement to receive Allah's approval. The Imam blessed the contract that they had agreed upon (Finances for Tibah should she need of the equivalent of 1000 sheets of fine vellum and to continue her desired education.) Naheem should now be sitting with the men of the family learning the ways of men, fathers, and what it means to be a son of this family and soon head of his own family (Tibah's father, her many brothers-in-law, her one brother and maybe that brother's lover, the presiding Imam). Malik internally lamented not being there to help Naheem through the prayers and complicated religious debates and discussions. He did let his thoughts drift to the details of the wedding he will have to manage. However, even these planning thoughts exhausted themselves.

By the end of the second day, Malik had no other thoughts to distract himself with. He had to face the thoughts of Sahar. He closed his eyes and whispered a prayer for Sahar, finally allowing the image of her naked and scarred and bleeding body consume his mind. She had risked everything for Kadar. She had cut off her own breasts. She endured imprisonment while he became a full assassin and lost his life. Malik failed to protect her. He failed to save her life. So few died when he treated them medically. Why did she have to be one of them? And he had thought recently that maybe his brother was like himself, like their eldest brother, interested in men. But no, Kadar did indeed like women… or at least this woman. Now they are both gone. He allowed himself time to quietly grieve her loss. He had just started to really like her and appreciate her, despite being mad at Altair for obliging him to have her as a shadow and protector. She died protecting him. Malik had to remind himself over and over that this is the life of an assassin, the risks they all accepted.

It wasn't till nightfall that it hit him that Sahar was not just a woman but a competent female assassin. When they rested, Malik dug out his notebook and jotted more ideas down about female assassins. He had questions. Were their female assassins before? Did some maybe exist in other cultures, as he was sure the assassins order was much older and that there were other groups, perhaps still in existence and just out of touch? Why did Altair know of Sahar and why did he keep it such a hard secret? He tried not to feel betrayed. He had asked Altair about Sahar before and Altair had said that she was not his secret and only she and Kadar could release him from keeping that secret. Well, they were both dead now. Malik wanted answers. And thinking about answers, he recalled Faruq, his older brother with the Templar lover who lost his eyes for looking at the Quran that Faruq had given him. Suddenly the web of his life and family seemed so small despite being so spread out. It also felt full of tragedy and he worried if more tragedy was due to come.

The familiarity of Jerusalem was refreshing, or at least reassuring. He bade his shadow to return to Masyaf and keep an eye out for the two young novices that will arrive there sometime in the coming week or so. The dust of Jerusalem mixed with the dust of the road from travel and made the black dai robes seem paler. He quietly unlocked the door to the Bureau and entered, longing to have a bath and clean clothes before he faced wedding affairs for Naheem. He passed through the counter's gate and thru the back room door where a candle lit the night and the room, illuminating Altair reading not just any journal, not Altair's own journals, but reading Malik's personal… private… journal.

Altair snapped the book shut. Unable to face it all over again, unable to deal with the raw emotions Malik threw into this private journal.

"Altair?" Malik asked curiously while leaning in the doorway of the back room, still dusty from his journey. He almost smiled seeing Altair still snooped into everything. I adored that curious aspect of the great eagle and had secretly enjoyed spying on Altair as Altair poked around the bureau thinking Malik was asleep.

Altair dropped the book and recoiled back against the wall, his hands yanking his hood back into place and hiding his eyes.

The postures slapped Malik in the face as this was the Altair of months ago, damaged and afraid. He could not allow Altair to backslide. He disregarded his own needs for a moment and strode into the room, kneeling down before Altair. He picked up the journal and put it into Altair's hands, pressed his hand over Altair's. "You stopped reading at a point in my life where I was hurt and angry. You should keep reading. I have read your life; you have a right to read of mine."

The hood moved and he knew Altair was shying away from it, from him. Malik raised his hand and slid it into the hood, pushing the hood back. He gripped the back of Altair's neck and gently tugged forward as he leaned. They brows touched. "Please do not hide from me, or run. I am here and part of your life now and you are part of mine. And I am ready for you now. Altair, don't let the past become a wall again between us."

* * *

A/N #2 – Where should I take this... what should come next?


	254. Chapter 254: Altair Pleases Malik YAOI

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – Shortest chapter… but… WARNING… HEAVY heavy YAOI… skip this chapter if you don't want to read this stuff.

* * *

The hood moved and he knew Altair was shying away from it, from him. Malik raised his hand and slid it into the hood, pushing the hood back. He gripped the back of Altair's neck and gently tugged forward as he leaned. Their brows touched. "Please do not hide from me, or run. I am here and part of your life now and you are part of mine. And I am ready for you now. Altair, don't let the past become a wall again between us."

Was Altair ready for what Malik just now offered?

As his golden eyes lifted to meet Malik's dark charcoal eyes, he had his answer. Yes. A shaky yes, but still a yes. He needed something to hold onto. Their lips met in a rushing impact of desperation. Gasping. Grasping. Crashing. Altair hungered fiercely for a few moments for the taste of Malik. He never expected that ferocity to be met equally.

When he recovered from the moments of overwhelming need to touch and taste and hold, Altair softened his actions. His kisses gentled, eliciting soft sighs from Malik. He touched and explored and removed clothing. Fingers feather-light on Malik's skin drawing out shivers and shudders. He didn't care that Malik was dusty and sweaty from a long ride. He missed him too much, missed the sureness of this man. Altair may not be one of many words, but he hoped his actions spoke for him. Expertly, he found all the sensitive places he once knew of Malik and exploited them.

Malik lacked active grace. He might be good with words but in this moment, where actions were the new language, he found himself the novice. It had been so long since he did anything like this. Altair's clothing came off in random tugs, sometimes tangling. Altair pressed over him on the bed mat. Skin… against skin…

Altair almost wanted to weep. He hugged Malik to him and buried his face in Malik's neck. There were so many things he wanted to say and do. Do. Definitely do. But he couldn't sort them out enough to choose. He heard Malik take in a nervous shaking breath and decided that penetration was not going to be among his choices tonight.

Tonight, he wanted to please Malik. He thought Malik deserved that. He wanted to please him. He slid down Malik's body, hands leaving a fiery trail, stubble scratching lightly as his soft lips found a stiff member. He heard Malik gasp aloud and felt him tangle his fingers into the feather-soft light brown hair. Only then did Altair register how naked he truly was, especially without his hood. He paused a moment to consider his comfort. Malik's fingers kneaded in his hair reassuringly. He took Malik's member into his mouth and those fingers suddenly gripped a fistful of hair in total surprise. Altair found himself smiling around the shaft before he slid through a steady rhythm. He gauged himself against the unguarded noises he heard from Malik and slid one of his hands down between his own legs to share in this pleasure.

* * *

A/N #2 – because good art is well overdue:

http:/ uccan .deviantart .com/art/AltMal-Cuddle-300632767

http:/ mureh .deviantart .com/art/The-Bureau-297656772

http:/ mintonia .deviantart .com/art/AC-Kingdom-of-Heaven-295894824

I have so many amazing pictures of these two guys kissing that I hardly know what to include for a scene like this. More to come… I assure you. For the time being, you can go peruse my collection of favorites.

http:/ scarletcougar .deviantart .com/favourites/39851413


	255. Chapter 255: Malik Surprised YAOI

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 –WARNING… more HEAVY heavy YAOI… skip this chapter if you don't want to read this stuff. Heed or don't read.

* * *

Malik had said it; he said he was ready for Altair. He just had not expected this. Or had he? His heart pounded so hard his breath could hardly keep pace. And once their lips met, there was no turning back from the rush of hunger in Malik's gut. His lips were clumsy in their need. His hand clumsier when he yanked at Altair's clothes. His ferocious hunger and burning desire had met Altair in near battle.

They wrestled till Altair was atop him. He didn't fight very hard this time. The heat and grit and sweaty slickness of skin on skin drive out almost all other thoughts. He threw back his head and gulped air. Altair seemed to have given him a moment to catch his breath with the softer touches and kisses. Malik was amazed all over again with Altair. So much gentleness and attention to every touch, was this the Altair he knew? Was they the killer who raged blindly through swathes of his enemies. Malik lay there in wondrous awe. The shivers and shudders Altair drew from him only amplified the feeling. Where did this gentle lover come from, he wondered.

Then reality tore him back to awareness as Altair hugged him tightly and Malik felt the stiff member hot between his legs, a member that was not his own. Suddenly he wasn't sure he was ready for this. He inhaled nervously trying to reign in his anxiety. He had been penetrated only ever once in his life a long time ago and that was by a much younger Altair. It hurt then, though briefly. He remembered that Altair was gentle even then.

Altair slid down Malik's body trailing kisses, a wet tongue, rough stubble. Malik tried futilely to not groan aloud. He gasped suddenly and moist lips on his hard manhood. What was Altair doing? What was he going to do? His fingers found the feathers of his eagle and tangled there a moment. Altair paused. Curious to know what Altair was planning, Malik stroked through the soft brown hair reassuringly. Then his fingers fisted in it as his eyes popped open and his back arched. He was definitely not expecting the hot wet engulfing on his member. If he could think, he might have been mortified that Altair just put that in his mouth, but thoughts were like down feathers caught in the wind and blown away.

Altair gauged himself against the unguarded noises he heard from Malik and slid one of his hands down between his own legs to share in this pleasure.

Malik felt lost in the rhythms of pleasure, oblivious to the sounds escaping his throat. The darkened room rocked and shifted in hazy blurs. Altair seemed to just know when and how to change the pace. He huffed in time with the rhythm, fingers flexing and gripping that soft hair till he tensed, toes curling. He forgot to breathe. Then he remembered the basic necessity and gasped, panting and trying to regain his senses from the release.

He hesitated looking down. When he did, Altair's mouth was still over his slowly softening member. Those golden eyes burned up at him. Altair swallowed. The feeling caused Malik to twitch, a small uncontrolled spasm. Altair drew away, wiping his mouth, the corner of which was turned up as if he were ever so pleased with himself. Malik would have slapped the smirk off Altair's face if he could convince his hand and arm to move, but he felt like soggy noodles.

"The sheets are a mess. Will you move a little so I can take it off?" asked Altair.

"I should make you sleep in it since it is yours." He barely mustered the energy for the small quip. He rolled a little and Altair removed the soiled blanket.

He tugged a spare back with him as she snuggled up alongside Malik. "I missed you."

Malik rolled his eyes. Sighed. "I missed you too, novice."

* * *

A/N #2 – You all asked… I so delivered. Pardon me while I too smirk ever so pleased with myself.


	256. Chapter 256: Altair's Sadness

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – New Year's Day 2013. I know I have been away from this for a while and I thank you all for your patients and waiting for me to come back to it. Many have been asking for the wedding… so here it is… along with a little bit of Sufyan and Altair. You will have several short chapters as we encounter the many aspects of the wedding. Enjoy to happy moments, cry with the sad ones, and hug your best friend (I hug my cats). Happy New Year!

* * *

He tugged a spare back with him as she snuggled up alongside Malik. "I missed you."

Malik rolled his eyes. Sighed. "I missed you too, novice."

In the morning, Malik had insisted they both bathe. Well, Malik bathed. Altair washed with a cloth and a basin of water. While Malik soaked in the tub trying to banish the soreness from riding all over the Holy Land, Altair uncertainly read through the remainder of Malik's journal.

He tugged down his hood to hide his expressions and emotions as he read. The pages tore raw strips from his soul till the tone changed. Then they tore new strips from his soul as Malik poured out his frantic anxiety and concern for Altair when Altair was unconscious from being patched up. These were mixed with Malik's fury and frustration at Altair's recklessness. Then mixed with praise at seeing how Altair grew and change.

The hours had gone by and Altair never noticed when Malik had cleaned up and brought food. A hand lightly touched Altair's knee.

"I need to go," Malik said softly. "I need to … uh… never mind. It is wedding related. When I come back, I will update you and you will come with me for the next things that need doing. You and I are Naheem's family now."

Altair frowned. _Family_. Thinking of family reminded him, "Where is Sahar?"

Altair saw Malik stiffen and lower his eyes sadly. "We will speak of her when I get back. Yes, I know she is a woman. She… I cannot afford to think on this now. I will talk of this when I return."

Altair watched Malik take up a small basket and head out. In the pit of his stomach, he knew. She was dead. Malik would want answers. Would need answers. Altair no longer needed to keep those hard secrets. The ache at Sahar's loss was unfamiliar and uncomfortable. He had no idea how to deal with it, emotionally speaking. He also had no idea how to deal with it according to the procedures of their Order. He had his own questions. How did she die? How did Malik find out she was a woman? They were concerns he could not deal with while Malik was away.

He looked down at the still open journal feeling numb and confused. His eyes fell then upon a name. Maria. Malik had recorded what he could of the woman Templar. He even had added a recent note from some information that she had visited someone, Faruq's lover. Faruq had a lover? He slammed the book shut.

"I have ruined so many people's lives!"

He was breathing fast trying to reign in his anguish and self-loathing. He should have sent someone else to shadow Malik, someone with more experience. He felt like he was already a failure at being a Grand Master.

He had no idea how long he lay in personal misery. Long. It had to be. Malik had returned to sit beside him and run his fingers gently through Altair's hair. Altair had not even realized he had fallen back asleep.

* * *

A/N #2 – Because this needed addressing before wedding stuff. Sorry.


	257. Chapter 257: Malik as Mother

_**Assassin's Creed I – Tales of Altaïr and Malik  
**_

A/N #1 – New Year's Day 2013. Yup, another small installment. I did say there would be a few.

* * *

Malik locked up as he left, unsure and uncomfortable with the dark news he had left Altair with. However, he was on a schedule that would not understand the plights of the Assassins. And this errand, at least would not take him very long.

Malik tried not to think how he was currently playing the role of the woman today. He was standing in for Naheem's mother this morning. The rising sun shone pale and bright as he walked through the streets banishing all thoughts of the Order, of Sahar, of the terribly naughty things he and Altair had done last night. Well that only made him think on all of them more. APPLE! He mentally yelled the word in his head till he was picturing different kinds of apples. That worked.

He reached Tibah's home and knocked upon the door. One of Tibah's sister's answered. "Oh! The men are in the second house by way of the east entrance."

"Uh, I am not here for that. I am here to see Tibah's mother."

The sister giggled as she realized how the uncle was being the mother today. She fetched her mother.

Malik did his best to smile charmingly and she gave him an inquiring look. "I… Naheem has no mother alive to fill this role and no female relatives or friends of the family. So, I am being mother and father and uncle. I know I am not permitted to sit in with your talks. But here. Please accept this on behalf of a loving mother who cannot be here." Malik held out the basket for Tibah's mother.

Tibah's mother accepted it graciously and looked inside. As per the expected ceremony duties, the basket held sweets, three silver coins and one gold coin. The sweets were for the mother to share with the women of the house. The three silver coins were for the mother for the loss of a daughter. It was ritual. The gold coin was wrapped in a piece of silk Malik had bought in Damascus. At lunch, the Imam would meet with the women and tie the silk and gold coin to Tibah's hand for luck and prosperity and a wealthy family life to come. The woman, would go on planning and talking with Tibah.

Malik did not belong. So he returned first to the market to purchase fruits that he and Altair would bring over later.

Malik had returned to sit beside Altair and run his fingers gently through Altair's hair. The fairer man had fallen asleep so distraught. Malik regretted heading out. He pushed the hood back a bit further so he could better comb his fingers through Altair soft hair.

When Altair sat up, Malik and he talked about Maria. About Faruq. About Faruq's lover. About Kadar. And finally about Kadar's lover, Sahar. How and why she died. They mourned together through lunch. And Malik learned how Altair had discovered the lovers and promised to keep their secret, promised to keep secret that Sahar was a woman, until she herself or Kadar (Malik's little brother) released Altair from that promise. And in a whisper, Altair confessed that they, Sahar and Kadar, had had a daughter.

Malik sat back, stunned. "I have a niece? My baby brother had a baby?" Malik didn't know what to say or do. This must be how Altair had felt when he knew he had son. "And you kept it from me?!" There was a hint of anger in his tone and he saw Altair flinch instantly, arms raising in defense of the strike he expected. After all, Altair had hit Malik when Malik kept his son away, of course Altair would expect to be hit. Malik took in a deep breath. "Is… is she safe?"

Altair cautiously lowered his arms, "Yes. She is with the aviary's family here in Jerusalem. Her name is…"

"Elli," breathed Malik as all those little puzzle pieces clicked into place. Malik smiled. "Thank you, on their behalf, Altair. I wish… I wish that Sahar could have…" Malik clamped his hand over his mouth as he no longer trusted his voice, eyes watering. Altair did the only thing he thought he could. He hugged Malik. It felt like taking a leap of faith and missing the hay.

Malik pulled himself together. "Elli is safe. And she is happy. I… I have met her often. She is just like my little brother and names all the animals." He chuckled. "And she is unshakable like Sahar, I suppose, when she sets her mind to something. I… have family." He wiped his eyes. "Speaking of family. We need to go be Naheem's family this afternoon. And… you will get to meet with your son. Who is safe with that family."

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A/N #2 – Because this needed addressing too before wedding stuff. And so I tie some more loose ends of this story.


End file.
